


Closer to a Home

by Yidkirkin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dying Will Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Italian Mafia, Minor Character Death, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Suicidal Thoughts, Yakuza, this involves elements of Worst - 髙橋ヒロシ by Takahashi Hiroshi but only background and cameo stuff, you really don't need to know anything about it i'm just back on my bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-01-26 06:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidkirkin/pseuds/Yidkirkin
Summary: When Minerva said that the Dursleys were the worst sort of Muggles, she decided to act on that precedent, mostly because she already knows of a better sort of Muggle who could help Harry grow up in a good home. If she has anything to say about it, Harry will be able to choose what kind of life he wants to live.
Relationships: Sawada Iemitsu/Sawada Nana
Comments: 43
Kudos: 219
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, The Harry Potters





	1. Chapter 1

**Closer to a Home**

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this.

Timoteo felt a twinge in his Intuition long before a tap at his office window alerted him to the arrival of an owl bearing a thin scroll in its talons. He was as alone as he ever was these days, considering his position; there were several guards patrolling the hallways around his office and tonight he was kept company by Ganauche III, who was snoozing on the couch in the far corner of the room. His children were with their own families (or in Xanxus’ case, in his own room), his other Guardians in their own homes, and his mother (as far as he knew) was probably still awake in her wing of the estate watching tv novellas.

He quietly stood up and let the owl in –even so, Ganauche’s flames flared sluggishly, questioning Timoteo’s movement even while deeply at rest. He paused in untying the scroll to send back a curl of reassurance so Ganauche would relax, and the younger man stopped stirring the instant Timoteo’s flames reached him. The Vongola Don couldn’t help but let out a little huff of amusement, still not used to the earnest attention from his newest Guardian, the most unexpected Harmonization of any of them by far and so unlike his predecessor.

The owl – a handsome Barn –settled comfortably on the back of his desk chair while Timoteo went about removing the message from its leg, and it gave a happy, subdued screech when offered a bit of the meat from his forgotten sandwich. He let the bird chitter and gnaw at his fingers for a moment before he turned his attention to the scroll again, unfurling it and already prepared for the worst because of who it concerned.

_Timoteo di Vongola_

_Hello, Uncle, I am awfully sorry for not writing to you sooner. With the war over I’ve been terribly busy with my duties at the school and throughout the wider community, and I feel as though I haven’t had a moment to myself in years-_

But, the letter from Minerva turned out to be a great relief –Timoteo hadn’t heard from his sole magical godchild in over a year, ever since her community’s war had intensified to the brink of anarchy. He hadn’t actually _seen_ her since his fortieth birthday, which had been nearly sixteen years ago if he was remembering right. Timoteo read through the first few paragraphs of Minerva explaining herself and getting him up to speed with fondness, recalling the formal little girl who would now be nearing forty years herself.

Thankfully, Minerva seemed not to have lost her wits, but her brief lapses into grim anecdotes worried Timoteo in a way he didn’t often feel these days. It always hit him hard when the children in his life lost their ignorance –more so when there was nothing he could’ve done to prevent it.

Minerva transitioned into the reason for her letter just as Timoteo began to wonder if she was only going to be telling him that she was alright; detailing briefly how the leader of the opposition had fallen and the sad situation of the Potter boy since then. It made his mind flash to his youngest son, although Harry was perhaps a bit worse off if only due to his age. Barely two years old and already both of his parents were dead, his godfather a traitor, and one uncle murdered while the other was embroiled in undercover work.

It took a turn into further sadness when Minerva wrote of her visit to the child’s caretakers –she had arrived unexpectedly and on her own, the worry over him no longer something she could ignore, and had walked into a house that was less a home and more a roof under which he was confined.

Far from taking Harry in as Albus had assured her would happen, the boy’s aunt had all but rejected him from her family; it was true that she provided for him, but children needed more than a room and a meal to thrive. Not even touching on the fact that the boy slept underneath the staircase, or that his uncle refused to so much as touch him, or that most of his day was spent either shut out in the backyard, or in his ‘room’, or in childcare.

Minerva had been at a loss and near apoplectic with fury, knowing that her employer had wished to believe the best of the Dursley family and she had agreed to allow Harry to be left there. Seeing how he was being treated shook not only her faith in Albus but also in herself for her complacency; now she had nowhere else to turn to for help.

With the war still so fresh in everyone’s minds and Albus impressing upon her the importance of Harry ‘living apart from his fame’, she couldn’t simply place him with a British magical family. She not only feared that he would face danger from the remnants of the Death Eaters were he to be found, but also that Albus might undermine her and place the boy with someone else he deemed ‘fit’.

_I fear that the scant connections I garnered separate from Albus during the war will be of no help to me now, busy as they are with their own problems. Even with Harry’s reputation, not many will have room to spare for yet another war orphan, let alone finding someone I can trust._

Timoteo knew his answer before the question was put to ink –he would of course help his goddaughter find a suitable place for the child. Somewhere safe, away from both magical and civilian conflict, a place which would raise him with the proper attention and care a child deserved.

Ganauche awoke as Timoteo closed the window behind the owl that carried his reply, the slight swell of ambient flames in the room the only indication he wasn’t still unconscious for the first minute or two. He pushed himself up slowly and cracked his shoulders, eyes seeking Timoteo out like a beacon even in his relaxed daze.

“Something up, Boss?” He asked, aware that Timoteo had been seated when he’d first drifted off. “Did you flare while I was sawing logs?”

Timoteo snorted and shook his head. “There was just an owl by the window. Now come on, we could both use some sleep in our respective rooms.”

__

Timoteo may have promised to secure a place for the child, but doing so on short notice with an organization as vast and varied as his own was not as easy a task as one might like it to be. Far from reviewing every member individually to determine candidates, Timoteo had begun by setting himself some requirements to try and whittle the innumerable possibilities down to those who might suit the boy’s needs best.

He and Minerva had arranged for her to arrive in two days time and to bring Harry along with her, so that when Timoteo woke up next he could be sure to have ample time to conduct his search as well as see her properly.

Had he not been fully aware of Xanxus’ lingering insecurities over his place in the family, Timoteo might have been tempted to raise Harry himself. He had a soft spot for children and had always wanted many more than the four he was blessed with. He still felt that way now, even with Xanxus not yet grown and his wife’s memory a cause for as much grief as love.

But he wanted Xanxus to grow comfortable here while he could and not think he needed to compete with another child –especially since he had finally settled on eighteen as when they would have the ‘adoption talk’ as it were. Eight years was still too short, but by then Xanxus would either be taking on duties as a Capo or perhaps joining the Varia with his talents. Realistically, Timoteo was far too busy for a toddler and likely as not wouldn’t be the best caregiver due to that.

From there he surmised that putting Harry with a family directly associated with the Vongola in Italy wasn’t the best option either. Timoteo knew that while there were many good people within his Famiglia’s ranks there were also definite disadvantages to being raised so close –not the least of which being that Vongola was targeted by all sides, both criminal and legitimate.

The Varia had never even been in the running.

Once that was decided, Timoteo sifted through their allies and affiliates, thinking briefly that knowing the boy’s flame type might make the process go a little smoother. He continued to narrow down those who he could reasonably ask this favour of. He knew the Cavallone and the Giglio Nero often had a few young couples within their ranks, and Ottavio Bovino was well known to take in –and take good care of –orphans who had been abused or similar.

There came up a few smaller Famiglias he discarded from the list; he wasn’t as familiar with them since they had changed hands from his contemporaries. He completely crossed out setting the child up in any of their sponsored group homes or fosters, being that Minerva had seemed set on trying to find Harry a forever home. He finally rounded out his list with CEDEF and was pleasantly surprised to see that a few people from the group were actively searching for possible adoption agencies according to Iemitsu’s quarterly gossip report.

As the organization was “both affiliated and not”, the risks that made Timoteo hesitate on a Vongola member for Harry’s guardianship were lessened. CEDEF’s members were so spread out that finding an appropriate area away from conflict was easier, and they were well known for their discretion and information management. The Cervello were... occasionally a concern, but once Iemitsu’s parental leave was over he could use this as an excuse to prod the young man into an internal investigation. Iemitsu was still being trained to take over from Casselli, and he shared many of Timoteo’s same worries, but the fact that his wife had finally carried to term had distracted him and Timoteo hadn’t wanted to ask him to take on too much until his child was maybe five or so years old.

He paused at a sudden idea and wrote it down, musing that paying his distant relative an earlier than planned visit might be a good idea.

__

Minerva approached the front gates of the Vongola’s main estate dressed in a plain grey shirt and long black skirt, carrying a small carpet bag on one shoulder and a snoozing toddler on the opposite hip. She assessed the set up quickly, only vaguely remembering it from when she had last visited, and then walked over to where a pedestrian access had been built into the wall next to the vehicle gates. A nondescript man in a suit stepped out of the booth as she came within earshot and asked her politely if he could help her with anything; Minerva primly handed him the card her godfather had sent along with his reply, and told him who she was and why she was here.

The guard’s eyes widened in surprise as he read the card –he soon showed Minerva to a nearby seat and took the card back with him into the booth. She heard the crackle of a radio and a few muffled sentences in Italian, and within a few minutes he was back with an equally plain looking young woman in tow.

“Signora, my colleague will escort you to the main house. Do have a good stay.” He said, and handed her the card back.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. McGonagall.” The young woman said in accented English, politely shaking her hand. “Do you need any assistance with your bag?”

“Thank you, but I’m quite alright_._” Minerva replied in equally accented Italian, but it was obviously appreciated by the guard. They passed through the gates and made their way through the gardens; still grandiose even after so many years. Minerva inspected the guard out of the corner of her eye –she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her seventh years, but she certainly held herself professionally, perhaps even moreso than the students from old, well mannered families.

The young woman smiled slightly. “He’s very cute, how old is he?”

_“_Two, next month_.” _Minerva sorely wished that he could have spent more time with his parents, as she’d wished so many times over the last few days. “Do you have any children, Miss?”

The guard laughed and shook her head. “No, I’m not even out of college yet. I won’t be having any for another few years still._” _Minerva nodded in understanding, and paused while the guard moved forward to hold open one of the large doors for her.

Inside was just as impressive as Minerva remembered; high ceilings and intricately carved wood, a long hall off to one side lined with the formal oil paintings of each of the nine Vongola Dons thus far. Minerva turned around and thanked the young woman for escorting her, but instead of responding the guard straightened even more at the sight of something further into the entrance hall.

“Minerva!” She turned back to see her godfather coming down the stairs, slightly slower and with more grey in his hair but just the same smile as when they had last seen each other. Beside him was a young boy maybe about eleven with dark hair, red eyes and a suspicious expression on his face as he inspected her. “My darling girl, come let me have a look at you after so long!”

Minerva smiled, instantly put at ease. They met in the middle of the room, Timoteo briefly thanking and dismissing the guard before pulling Minerva into an embrace, careful not to jostle her young passenger.

“Minerva, this is my youngest son, Xanxus.” Timoteo introduced, smiling proudly when the boy nodded and extended a hand so they could shake. “Xanxus, this is Minerva McGonagall. She is my eldest godchild, and she lives in the United Kingdom.”

Something in Xanxus’ expression shifted at that, and though he looked at Harry curiously he didn’t ask anything about why she was visiting or why he had never seen her before. Instead he murmured a goodbye to his father and nodded at Minerva, and then went out into the gardens without another word.

“He’s shy_.” _Timoteo told her fondly_. “_Now, we can talk in my sitting room. The entranceway isn’t the best place_..._”

Minerva followed her godfather up the main staircase, recognizing some things as he led her down a quiet hallway, away from the distant echoes of chatter coming from the opposite end. Soon after they reached a white wooden door that Minerva remembered from one of the first times she had ever visited, and the inside proved not to have changed much. Timoteo motioned for her to sit while he grabbed a tray of tea from a table just inside the door, and he poured cups for the both of them before they began to really talk.

“I _was _worried during your long silence, but I’m so relieved you’re safe_._” He said, passing her the steaming cup once she had adjusted Harry enough that both her hands were free. “I had heard of the war’s end from my own people, but it was harder to find anything on you_._”

“I’m sorry. The war was... very taxing.” Minerva sighed, smoothing Harry’s hair down. “I was still needed even once the fighting had stopped_.”_

“There’s no need for apologies. I understand.”

Minerva sniffed slightly; she stared down at the sleeping boy and closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the horrible ‘what if’s that may have come to pass had she not taken Harry from there. “Albus really believed that Petunia and Vernon would care for Harry, if out of nothing else than respect for dear Lily. I never thought so highly of them... but I still didn’t try harder to change his mind...”

“I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for this, Uncle. I can’t imagine I would be nearly so calm if I didn’t have you to turn to.” Minerva shook her head. “Albus... he’s a good man, but he has his failings. If I hadn’t thought to check in on them, Harry might –I don’t even want to guess on how he would’ve turned out. I’m so worried that I won’t be able to do anything if, somehow, Harry gets sent back there. I’m losing sleep it worries me so_._”

“_We _all make decisions that, in hindsight, were terrible. But we can also make good ones. His aunt is no longer an issue, and will never be if I have any say in it. Harry will be all the better for it.” Minerva nodded in agreement. “You are my goddaughter, Minerva. I would help you commit murder if you asked, and so I will protect the ones you hold dear with just as much resolve.” Timoteo let the statement hang in the air as he refilled his cup, sure that she knew he was being serious. “I’ve taken the liberty of looking into a few people I think would be suitable, those who would treat Harry as their own son without thinking. We can go over the details tomorrow, once you’ve had a good rest. Although, is there anything you would like to see in potential candidates?”

Minerva took a minute to think that over. “I’d like them not to be in or near the United Kingdom.” She began, and Timoteo mentally took note. “Financially stable, who can spend time with him, with no more than... three or four other children? I don’t mind if they’re... involved in your business, Uncle, but please not in a dangerous part of the world.”

“Done.”

“And you haven’t spoken with any of them yet?”

“No, I wanted to wait. I did tentatively plan out a few that I was fairly sure would work out, but nothing was officially arranged. You have a bit of time off now that it’s July, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed a few weeks?” Minerva asked.

“I wish you could stay longer!”

__

Minerva appeared in the dining room at half past noon the next day, Harry toddling around several steps in front of her and accompanied by one of the kitchen staff, having uncharacteristically slept in over lack of sleep and jet lag. Timoteo rose out of his seat to greet her, showing her the vacant seat and high chair to his right, and was about to re-introduce her to everyone at the table when his mother interrupted him.

“Minerva, dear, you’ve grown into such a fine woman.” Daniela smiled, curiously inspecting Harry. “Were you married while out of touch? I’m afraid I don’t hear much about the wider family these days.”

Minerva’s face fell slightly, but she smiled anyhow. “I was, but I’m afraid Elphinstone died last year. Harry is my late students’ child, my ward for the time being.”

“Oh, I, I’m so sorry, Minerva.” Daniela said, Timoteo following suite; Minerva thanked them.

“I’ve been coming to terms with it. We had three years together, which is more than some people get.” Minerva looked down the table. “...Massimo and Federico, am I right? You were only children when I was here last.”

“You’ve got a good memory.” Massimo said, stirring his coffee. “I’m afraid I almost didn’t recall who you were, you spent most of that visit talking with Enrico.”

“Was he not able to come ‘round today?”

There was a beat of silence before Timoteo sighed heavily. “You wouldn’t have heard due to the timing, but Enrico died two years ago.” Minerva sucked in a startled breath. “So far as we can tell, it was a stray shot in a firefight. There was no way to prevent it.”

“These last few years have been difficult all around.” Federico said. “But surely they’ll get better, soon. Why, Massimo is going to be married!”

“Fede, don’t go saying that before I even propose.” Massimo murmured. “You’ll jinx it.”

“Minerva, did you get a chance to look through those papers I left by your door?” Timoteo asked as his sons devolved into a quiet argument. “Were there any left at all?”

“Only four, I’m afraid. For Harry I won’t be lax.” The atmosphere lightened a little more as she tried to feed Harry and talk at the same time. “I do think meeting them beforehand would be best. There was something about... flame compatibility?”

“Mm, sometimes adoption in our circles is a little more complicated than simply vetting their personal situation. If a child has particularly ‘Hard’ flames, they may have a difficult time accepting someone new as a guardian. It doesn’t always turn out well if these things aren’t taken into account.”

“I suppose it’s better to err on the side of caution.”

There was quiet again for a few minutes as everyone ate or spoke in low tones, Harry making the most noise among them. Massimo was the first to leave, heading out for a meeting, Federico not long after when he received an unexpected call. When Daniela left for a Doctor’s appointment and it was only four left sitting, Xanxus spoke up hesitantly.

“F-Father, there’s something weird about the brat.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and glared at Harry, who was preoccupied with smearing scrambled eggs all over his plate. “It makes my skin crawl.”

“What does, Xanxus? Something about his flames, maybe?” Timoteo looked closely at the toddler and noticed for the first time a faint shimmer around his hairline, transparent grey and curling closely to his forehead. It wasn’t surprising that Xanxus had cottoned on to it before anyone else –he was already a prodigy in flame use and the way the tendrils crept out to try and inspect them must have been off putting.

“What is it?” Minerva asked, trying to see what had her godfather frowning at her charge.

“I’m unsure. Would you be up to taking Harry to have a check up today? Whatever this is might not even be a problem, but it would be a good idea even so.” Timoteo drew back from where he’d been looking closely at the strange occurrence.

“I think that _is _a good idea. I noticed that he’s been sleeping an awful lot, even for a babe.”

__

Once Xanxus was assured that he wouldn’t have to hold or keep an eye on Harry, he agreed to accompany them to the medical wing, where an appointment had been swiftly arranged for after lunch. The Vongola’s head physician was currently on loan to the Armoniche Ospedale for several weeks, but one of her direct subordinates was well above any standard doctor and was more than happy to clear his busy schedule for them.

“Speaking physically, he is going to need glasses when he’s older. He has a broken finger that healed the wrong way, but luckily that can be fixed. He’s approaching malnourishment and hasn’t been getting enough sun or exercise.” Dr. Dhanda outlined after the full exam he had insisted upon. “I’d recommend that once he’s settled you find him a primary doctor to oversee his recovery instead of getting one thing or the other treated at a time.”

“As for his Flames,” Dr. Dhanda went on. “He’s quite clearly a Rain, and already Active besides. But anything more I could say... well, that scar needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. I can’t get a read on Flame Intensity, Secondary’s, not much of anything beyond his Element, really.”

The grey wisp curled jerkily over Harry’s scar, as if it knew it was being talked about.

“It’s a combination of Flame remnants and magic. I’ve seen it happen before, but as far as I can tell this is from the same individual, which _should_ be impossible. Regardless, I’m going to call Dr. Bachelette and schedule an appointment for this tomorrow at the Armoniche –if that’s amenable, Don Vongola?” Dr. Dhanda began filling out a note as soon as Timoteo nodded in agreement. “Lastly, he’s going through some sort of Flame Exhaustion that doesn’t involve those Rain Flames – so I think he probably has a Secondary that’s responding to the foreign infection. Dr. Bachelette will have the Rain Ward supervisor take a look at him tomorrow as well.”

“Thank you Harjit, is there anything else?” Timoteo asked, taking the slip of paper.

“Once he gets one, just have his primary physician give Dr. Bachelette and I a call, so we can get them up to speed. And don’t miss this appointment.” The doctor said, reaching into the fridge under his desk and handing Minerva a small package of skinless apple slices. “Here, I’m sure he’ll like these after all my poking and prodding.”

“Thank you.” Minerva hoisted Harry back up on her hip and followed her Uncle out the door, Xanxus bringing up the rear and still giving Harry the side eye.

“Well, now we have a plan of action.” Timoteo commented mildly. “Xanxus, did you want to stay with us? I’m afraid we’re not going to be doing much that’s interesting –talking about adoptive families might get a little tedious.”

Xanxus visibly thought about it, even glancing out the window at the estate’s expansive gardens that Minerva suspected he spent a lot of his free time in. “I’ll tag along.”

“Alright, let’s go sit outside, then. There’s a garden near here that has a low wall ‘round it, so Harry can explore without wandering off.”

When they set themselves up in the garden with coffee and a bit of food for Harry and Xanxus to eat if they wanted, Minerva let the toddler go and walk around, keeping an eye on him regardless of the fact that the grass was maybe ten paces at any length.

“I looked through the suggestions you gave me, Uncle, and only found the De Palmas, the Sawadas, the Müllers, and the Martinellis to be acceptable. Why don’t you tell me a bit about them?”

“Helen and Pablo de Palma are related tangentially to the leader of the Nuevo based out of New Orleans –enough so to be on the radar and afforded protection, but they won’t be in line for succession or any of that. They have one child, and when I spoke with them a few months ago while visiting the city they were open about wanting more children in the future.” Timoteo paused to wave a bee out of his face. “Iemitsu is the vice head of CEDEF, an organization which oversees the Vongola from an outside perspective, and his wife Nana is pregnant with their first child. Out of any of these families, Japan is perhaps as far away from the U.K. as you can get. The Müllers, Gerald and Doyle, have been looking to adopt or surrogate as recently as six months ago; Doyle is one of CEDEF’s foreign branch supervisors and I can’t think of a single bad thing to tell you about him. Finally, Marco and Viola Martinelli are involved with one of our lesser allies, the Uccello, near Venice. They have two children and teach part time at a local La Scuola branch, and were good friends with Enrico before he died.”

“Why not someone from the Cavallone? They’re a big, safe Famiglia, close to here.” Xanxus injected.

“I might’ve suggested them, but Don Cavallone is experiencing a bit of unrest due to his illness right now. Asking him to place a child would add to his workload.” Xanxus nodded, accepting the answer. “Now, Minerva, I haven’t talked to any of them yet, but I can easily call them up within the next few days, maybe arrange a visit with each next week so you can meet them and Harry can be recovered enough to travel. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable, Uncle.” Minerva said with a tired smile, eyes on Harry still as he tripped over a knot in the grass and got up without missing a beat.

The visit to the Armoniche Ospedale the next day ultimately turned out to be less involved than anyone was expecting. Dr. Bachelette; the Vongola’s head physician, and Dr. Amoire; the head of the Rain Ward, met with Minerva, Harry and Ganauche at noon and they spent a good amount of time simply talking, trying to ascertain how the scar had appeared in the first place. Minerva knew a lot of the story by now, but the hows and whys evaded her even on her best days.

In the end they decided to go with their usual method of treatment for such an affliction; it was rare, yes, but not so rare that they had never encountered it themselves or had no idea what to do with it. The past decade was full of Flame advancements in every field, medicine no exception –a lot to do with the fact that the Hospital staff very rarely had patients arrive in great numbers, and so they filled their time with research and innovation.

Harry did have to be put under general anaesthesia for the procedure, where Dr. Bachelette, three other Sun users from the Ward staff, and the supervisor of the Storm Ward simultaneously destroyed the infection from inside the wound and then healed it in increments, making sure to expel the residual magic at the same time. Minerva was allowed to watch with Ganauche from the viewing room, and while it scared her like nothing else to see Harry lying on a table like that, it was also fascinating as well. If she could have, she might’ve introduced Poppy to a few of the Flame doctors by now; the Mediwitch didn’t exactly trust non-magical methods, but she was highly interested in hearing about them.

When Dr. Bachelette met them outside the door while Harry was being moved over to a bed in the Lightning Ward and informed her that the operation had been a complete success, she was so relieved that she had needed to sit down.

__

When Minerva first wrote her godfather she was tired, drained and desperate. A long and gruelling war had given way to a shaky sort of peace, everyone involved in the fighting left to pick up the pieces of their broken families, their shattered lives. Her attention had been split between arranging Elphinstone’s funeral, reopening the school, flushing out the Ministry, and the testimonies she was expected to give concerning more than a dozen incidents or arrests.

More than half a year had passed when she finally found the time to go and check on Harry herself, when Albus was occupied with his new position as Supreme Mugwump and didn’t have the time to be at the school most days. The man was brilliant, had almost defeated Voldemort a number of times before that tragic Halloween night; but after all she had been through and lost, she didn’t need his opinion, or his permission, and so she hadn’t told him where she was going. She knew deflection –or rather, hope without proof –well, and she knew she wouldn’t rest easy until she saw that Harry was being treated right with her own eyes.

Now that she and Harry were both in Italy, visiting Doctors about his scar and couples about his future, Minerva wasn’t sure she would ever be able to trust the Headmaster’s word again.

“Minerva, love, you cannot blame yourself for the decisions of others.” Her godfather reminded her firmly after she had, in a vulnerable moment, told him of feeling guilty for not going to the Dursley’s sooner. Logically she knew he was right, but it was hard to think that way when Harry still cried if she shut off the lights abruptly or made too sudden a hand movement. “Don’t let ‘what ifs’ preoccupy you. Only worry about what’s happening right now. You trust me, don’t you?”

“I do, Uncle. I really do.” Minerva sighed and let herself relax a bit more. “This is all happening a bit fast, I suppose. Ten days ago I was reviewing student lists.”

“In Harry’s case, swift is probably best.” Timoteo said gently. “Fast treatment will bring fast recovery, and I have complete confidence that Harry will grow up in a home that will love him and treat him as their own cherished son.”

“Why is it again you think a... Harmonized parent would be better?” Minerva asked –three of the four couples they were going to visit had one of the parents involved in a Harmony. “Massimo tried to explain, but he isn’t the best at it I’m sorry to say.”

Timoteo laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “He isn’t, you’re right. But that’s what happens when things come naturally to you.” He grew a little more serious. “Harry is very delicate at the moment. His Rain Flames are inherently stabilizing, but Lightning Flames can be unpredictable at the best of times, let alone when they’re recovering from extensive Exhaustion. A parent involved in a Harmony will have access to a bit of... flame runoff, and the stability that comes with that will ensure that Harry has a bit of an easier time keeping balanced. It isn’t entirely necessary, nor does it always work –take the Bovino for example.”

“An extra bit of help, maybe.”

“Yes. It’s worth taking into account, at any rate.”

The way he said it –that made it sound like a reason to consider someone rather than a deciding factor for choosing them –was what really made her feel better. It wasn’t the same as Albus’ argument for Harry going to his Aunt’s for the protections the Blood Ward would offer, and that he took the time to explain it to her was appreciated as well.

When Harry was given the go ahead by both the Rain and Lightning Ward directors a week after his surgery, they flew to New Orleans to meet the De Palmas almost immediately. That evening Timoteo would go and see the Nuevo leadership while Minerva and Harry went to bed early, but in the morning she, Harry and her godfather met the young couple and their two year old daughter Maria at a park in one of New Orleans’ older suburbs. They spent a pleasant few hours talking and watching the children before parting ways, promising to give Helen and Pablo an update after the other meetings went through.

Minerva was happy enough with it as a start, and it put her in a better frame of mind for the rest of the visits that were to come. Pablo had a stable, well paying job with a local restaurant, and Helen was a stay at home mother. As Timoteo had said, their children wouldn’t be in line for any sort of succession, but Helen had still picked up three Guardians during her time at The School –later explained that she had meant the local ‘mafia school’ like the British Isles’ An Scoil –and they had stuck close ever since. Timoteo mentioned it was a plus that both Helen and Maria were Rain users like Harry, even if he hadn’t been noticeably receptive to either of them.

“Reacting well at the first meeting sometimes means a good match, but it’s by no means set in stone.” Timoteo replied evenly when she pressed. “Harry has been through a lot. He may just be slow to bond.”

They met the Müllers two days later, and although Harry actually crawled over to Gerald and appeared content, he didn’t like the four year old they had adopted one bit. Doyle had taken the CEDEF position to remove himself from the running for the succession of his father’s small family –he was the youngest out of seven children, and joked that the two Guardians he had were the only people who agreed with him that he wouldn’t have been a good Boss. Gerald worked in town as a web designer and internet technician, and Minerva liked them well enough, but the fact that Harry didn’t get along with their son like he had with the De Palma girl was a major drawback.

Their journey to Japan was longer than the average traveller might experience, Timoteo arranging stopovers in Greece, Thailand and South Korea –ostensibly to break up a terribly long plane ride, but in the end he always had some sort of business to attend to for at least a couple of hours each stop. During the trip, he filled her in on the Vongola’s relationship with Japan, the couple they were headed to meet and where they would be off to after this. It was a relief to finally arrive, and even more so to go and meet the couple that Timoteo had told her so much about on the plane ride over.

When Sawada Iemitsu opened the door to his home to let them in, Minerva was struck by just how much he looked like a blond, tanned James Potter. That impression grew as he cheerfully led them inside, introduced Nana –his heavily pregnant wife –with hearts in his eyes, and managed to draw a shy little wave from Harry within a few minutes.

They all sat down to talk in the living room, content to let Harry toddle around exploring as they made conversation. Despite the good start, Harry showed no more inclination to approach the Sawadas after that, which they were visibly disappointed about; they brightened somewhat when Minerva told them about Harry’s shy temperament and that he was still convalescing.

“It’s probably better he do things how he wants.” Iemitsu smiled easily, one hand cradling Nana’s. “With _Cieli_, it’s very often a complete yes or a hard _no. _There’s no sense pushing.”

“Quite.” Minerva agreed, half an eye on Harry as he lifted up a couch cushion next to the coffee table.

“He’s a very steady walker.” Nana observed, something about her quiet cadence drawing the room’s attention. “My mother told me I could barely crawl until I was three.”

“My Federico was the same.” Timoteo laughed. “Minerva barely spoke until she was four or five.”

“Uncle, how dare you tell them that.”

The atmosphere was light and easy, and even though part of her wanted to be more critical, Minerva found herself taking a shine to the young couple already. This could be a good fit for Harry, she thought absently, smiling when the toddler tried to climb up next to Iemitsu and, upon it proving too difficult a task, allowed the man to lift him up and onto the couch.

They stared at one another for a few seconds before Harry disappeared with a quiet ‘pop’.

Nana fainted.

“You never said he was a _magical_ baby.” Iemitsu sighed, like this had happened to him before.

“He –He apparated out of-” Minerva stopped in disbelief. Babies weren’t supposed to be able to _do that_. “He apparated at _two years old_.”

“Ganauche is already putting together a search party. Harry’s flames being so young and without trained Sensors, it will take a little longer than usual.” Timoteo explained, snapping his phone shut, mostly to give Minerva something to focus on.

“That was a ‘no’ if I’ve ever seen one.” Iemitsu mumbled, making sure Nana was more comfortable positioned on the couch. “I thought he was Flame Active?”

“Sorry, Iemitsu. That was going to be the second meeting.” Timoteo rubbed his forehead. “And it’s difficult to quantify, but when young children possess both, sometimes they don’t lean one way or another until as late as seven.”

“Oh.” Minerva’s mind seemed to have maxed out on worry and gone back around to latch onto the fact that she would have to arrange to see Harry before he went either way, to tell him the full options on what he was going to decide on. Well, if he ended up raised Flame-oriented anyway.

“Don’t worry too terribly, Minerva.” Timoteo soothed, as if he realized that she was one thought away from breaking into a full blown panic. “Everyone is already out there looking. I will be as well once I’m sure you’re alright.”

“I’m... I will be when we find him. Let’s go!”

__

It was close to nine at night when Timoteo’s phone finally rang and Ganauche relayed that he needed them to meet him and Nougat a few kilometres over from where they had stopped.

“His tone was odd.” Timoteo mentioned as they hailed a cab. “But not worrisome. It was like he wasn’t sure whether to huff or laugh.”

“That’s good.” Minerva wasn’t about to entertain any scenario that could be bad and lead to that sort of description.

“Ganauche would’ve said if something was wrong.” Her godfather continued, trying to assure her. When the cab pulled up to the small group of gathered Vongola members, Timoteo settled the fare and they both hurried over.

“Well, _where is he?_” Minerva demanded, nerves shot and making her feeling like a caged animal. Ganauche did indeed have an odd expression on his face to match his tone, as Timoteo had said; partly as if he was holding in a laugh, but also like he was frustrated and impatient.

“That’s the rub. Boss, we’re pretty sure the tyke’s in _there_.” Nougat said, and jerked his thumb at a gate set into a low wall a few metres down the street. Minerva didn’t understand what the problem was, until Nougat followed up with, “That’s the Momokyou-kai compound. Yakuza.”

“Their reputation?” Timoteo asked, not missing a beat.

“In their third generation, well respected if small for the area.” Nougat rattled off. “Pretty standard laundry list. The current head doesn’t like his people dealing to anyone under twenty, and no first timers, so they’ve made allies with about who you’d expect. The Shuei, Kuroda, Gotouda. Bit of a feud going with the Tomaso.”

“Hm. Any bad press?” Nougat gave his boss a _look_.

“Besides being criminals? The rumours they’re courting the Triad are _just_ rumours from what we can tell. They recruit a lot of women –and not for the sex trade considering the quotes we’ve got from their second generation head. No sex trafficking going on at all, thank _fuck._”

“Then I see no reason not to knock on the door.” Timoteo said, and with that he linked his arm with Minerva’s and headed straight over to the gate –several put-upon sighs sounding off in his wake. A rather unique looking young man –carrot coloured hair and a grey mechanic’s suit –with a scar down one cheek answered them, and politely asked what he could help them with.

“If you could please let someone know that a Vongola representative has arrived, calling with a business prospect, we would greatly appreciate it.”

They were shown in and led to something of a sitting room, where the subordinate left so he could go and fetch whoever was available.

“Uncle, I’m a tad nervous.” Minerva admitted. She had lived through a war and then some, but that had been in Britain, with an enemy she knew, laws she could ignore, and Harry safe with his parents. This –This was a side of her godfather she was keenly aware of, but had never been so suddenly confronted with.

“My dear, all will be well, I promise.” Was all he could say before the door opened again.

Another young man came in, this time accompanied by a woman of roughly his same age. He was rather short but looked as sharp as a knife, while his companion was tall and imposing, with wide shoulders and scarred knuckles. The man stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide at the sight of her godfather, and Minerva marvelled that he could inspire such a reaction so far from Italy.

“_Vongola-sama, _h-how may I –be of service?” He asked in halting English, the both of them bowing formally.

“Please, Japanese is fine, I am in your home. I apologize for arriving without prior warning, and so late.”

“Think nothing of it.” The woman assured him. “But, could we see some identification?”

“Of course.” Timoteo raised his cane and lit both the end and the ring on his finger with Sky Flames for a few short seconds, then dissipated them so the woman could inspect the signet ring that Minerva knew every Don before him had worn as well.

“Thank you, Vongola-sama.” The man intoned, bowing again. “I am Wakatoshi, and this is my second, Kanata. What sort of business have you travelled to Japan for?”

“It is less business and more of a personal matter.” Timoteo began, keeping a hand on Minerva’s forearm. “My godchild, Minerva, recently came into the custody of a young boy.” Timoteo paused almost imperceptibly, but neither Wakatoshi nor Kanata reacted. “We were visiting a distant cousin of mine when the lad’s accidental magic acted up, and he vanished. We have been looking for him for most of the afternoon.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t seen any children around myself.” Wakatoshi said it so casually that Minerva was almost fully inclined to believe him, if not for Nougat’s word to the contrary. “But, I have been away all day. Would you mind terribly if I went to ask our Kumichō?”

“By all means. The only urgency is in assuring Harry’s safety.”

When they were alone, Minerva sighed and relaxed out of her tenseness.

“Not a bad liar, that one. A liar all the same, though.” Timoteo smiled at her blunt assessment. “I didn’t expect them to be so polite.”

“Well, not every criminal is a scoundrel.” He joked. “Those two are young, which would normally indicate rude or thoughtless, but it’s likely that they have a higher position with how they handled us. That they didn’t simply deny everything and kick us out means that they know a little more than they’re letting on.”

“I do think Nougat was on the mark.” Minerva took a steadying breath. “Merlin, this morning I thought we would be back in the hotel by now, looking over the Martinellis, not organizing a _search party_.”

“Harry doesn’t seem to make things easy, does he?”

The door slid open quietly, breaking them out of conversation for the appearance of a man, maybe in his late twenties. He had dark, closely cut hair and the edges of a vibrant tattoo peeking out at his collarbone and wrist, and a significant portion of his nose was missing. He was wearing a grey, formal hakama with blueembroidery, and despite the fact that he had the leader of the most powerful mafia family in the world standing in his sitting room, he appeared as unruffled as if Timoteo were a close friend come for a chat.

“Don Vongola, a pleasure to have you in my home.” He greeted, also bowing formally. “I am Momoda Sakurai, third Oyabun of the Momokyou-kai. Wakatoshi informs me you are asking after a lost child.”

“Indeed I am. My goddaughter’s ward, in fact.” Timoteo and Minerva both shook Sakurai’s hand, Minerva introducing herself cordially. “We’ve been absolutely beside ourselves with worry since he vanished.”

“I can imagine.” Sakurai agreed heavily.

“Please, we’re sorry to trouble you so late.” Minerva started, glad her godfather didn’t interrupt. “But Harry’s been missing for hours now. I just want him safe, he’s all I have left of his parents. If there’s anything you can tell us, anything at all...”

Sakurai stared at her for a long minute before he nodded and briefly went back to the hall door, saying something to whoever was waiting on the other side. It was only a moment later that a woman entered the room carrying an obviously drowsy Harry, who smiled and reached out for Minerva once he saw her, making noise all the while.

“Anty!” He managed in his toddler gurgle, and the woman brought him over, tried to pass him away –but once he patted Minerva’s cheek he decided he wanted to remain where he was for the time being, and they acquiesced.

“My wife, Sunako.” Sakurai introduced.

“He’s been just –wonderful. He’s wonderful.” Sunako said, and her voice hitched slightly when Harry curled closer into her chest. “We found him in the back gardens at around one. Poor thing was in tears.”

“Our condolences. He is an orphan?” Sakurai asked, coming up beside his wife to brace an arm around her waist.

“Lily and James. They were killed in October.” Minerva told them, and it still hurt. “He wasn’t in a good place before I took custody a few weeks ago.”

“We... it was a pleasure to take care of him today, even under the circumstances.” Sakurai said, and Sunako nodded in agreement.

“I –I think he’ll go now.” Sunako murmured –Harry had fallen asleep in her arms. She so carefully helped Minerva take him that Harry barely stirred at all.

“Don Vongola, please don’t hesitate to call if ever you’re in the area. The Momokyou-kai would be glad to offer our aid.” They shook hands once more, and then Sakurai and Sunako showed them to the front door. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you, and I extend the offer in return. I’m sure we’ll meet again, Kumichou.”

“Thank you, so much.” Minerva said emphatically, and Sunako smiled delicately.

“Of course.”

They exited the compound and walked back to where Ganauche and Nougat were waiting with a car to take them back to the hotel; on the way, Timoteo called Iemitsu to fill him in on what had happened.

The discussion didn’t begin until after Minerva had put Harry down to sleep.

“Why were they acting so odd? It wasn’t simply that I am the Vongola Don.” Timoteo addressed his Guardians, a serious look in his eye. “Although on the glance they acted normally, if stiffly, they were both reluctant to see Harry go, and Sunako appeared particularly distraught Flame-wise after they had closed the door behind us...”

“Well, nothing’s been happy for the Momoda as of late.” Ganauche said grimly. “At Sakurai Momoda’s succession eight years ago, they were plagued with internal disputes, assassination attempts by the Tomaso, and worries over Sunako Momoda’s health. They had a calm period for a few years, and then they had a child a year ago, Kiku...” Nougat sighed from behind them all. “The boy died six months back from an undiagnosed birth defect. Soon after, Sakurai Momoda lost his Mist to a freak car accident and his father succumbed to stomach cancer following years of chemo. The organization has been doing well, but the family has been wracked with grief.”

“Those poor people.” Minerva couldn’t help but say, a pit of sympathy opening up in her chest.

“What’re you thinking, boss?”

“Uncle?”

“Minerva, dear, what would you think if I asked you to consider the Momoda for Harry?” He asked calmly, and Minerva straightened up, meeting his gaze head on in all seriousness. “A young couple with no children –horrible circumstance aside –and the husband with a nearly full complement of Guardians. They will be able to support him, are as far removed from both the wider Mafia community and British Magical society as one can ask; Iemitsu and Nana live nearby.”

“Uncle, how could we ask this of them? They’re grieving –we barely know them at all.”

“Harry seemed perfectly content –a child’s insight can go a long way, though it may not always ring true.” Timoteo pointed out; he decided to withhold the fact for now that his Intuition had been prodding him back there ever since they had left, certain that the Momoda would at least be some part of this situation they had to resolve. “And as I’ve said, this isn’t a deciding factor, but Sakurai is solely a Rain and Sunako has a Lightning Secondary.”

Minerva took a few minutes to think on it. Certainly there were many aspects of the couple that, had they been on the official docket, she would likely have already scheduled a second meeting. No offense meant to the Müllers or the De Palmas, but neither had struck her as an exemplary match for her little ward –good enough, surely, but with this particular child good enough just wouldn’t cut it. Sakurai and Sunako were... a better fit, she had to admit, not the least bit because of how they had cared for Harry during his unexpected disappearance.

“How stable a situation are they in? Won’t he be in a bad way with a broken Guardian bond, let alone all else?”

Timoteo glanced at Nougat. “Flame wise, Sakurai is holding up well for having recently lost a child and Guardian. He is the lead in a Skyless Harmony –that is, using the six non-Sky Flame variants he has created a Bond which is as strong as a traditional one, with his Rain Flame as the central aspect. Some think it is a lesser Harmony, but it actually shows that he has gained their trust enough for them to _choose_ to tie themselves both to him as well as each other; he would have to be very mentally strong for this. And though Sunako was likely hit harder for their child’s loss, for she has only one Guardian to support her Flames, I did not get the impression that she was buried in her grief. She may indeed be stronger than her husband in this.”

“Aye.” Nougat agreed. “Not a whiff of Discordance in the whole place –and I’d be able to tell. Losing a kid’s another matter. As for the Momokyou-kai as a whole, it’s well entrenched in both legitimate and other business ventures, it’s allies don’t chatter about it which means they wanna keep it safe and quiet, and the Tomaso feud has calmed a _little bit._ Evidently even those weirdos can back off when a baby’s died, their own heir’s age notwithstanding.”

“And,” Minerva hated to give voice to it, but it had been swirling around her brain the further away she got from Britain. “Albus has no political sway here, no power whatsoever.”

“Why not give it thought for a night or two? There is no rush. We can play tourists for tomorrow, Minerva.” Timoteo suggested, probably aware of her inner conflict; Minerva found herself agreeing easily, glad for the refuge a night’s sleep might afford her.

__

The next day after lunch, while her godfather took Harry to a nearby park, Minerva went back to the Momokyou-kai compound to speak to Sunako alone. In the worst case she would be turned away, but she hoped that they could at least talk briefly and get to know one another before Minerva had to make a decision.

She ended up seated in a small, cozy room that opened up onto what she’d been told was the front ‘viewing garden’, waiting for Sunako to return from making tea.

“Please pardon Sakurai-san’s absence, McGonagall-san. We truly didn’t expect to see any of your party back so soon.” Sunako said as she bustled about, sounding a bit like the hostess at a restaurant. “Did you continue on with your visit to Vongola-sama’s, ah, cousin, did he say?”

“A very distant one, yes. But we ended up not going back. Harry –really, all of us were so tired after yesterday.” Minerva accepted the cup Sunako offered her. “Thank you. And as for your husband, I only wished to speak with _you_, Momoda-san.”

“I was –_am_ curious. I’m no civilian bride but it still isn’t often I get visitors of your family’s calibre.” Sunako smiled slightly, as if imparting a great secret.

“Forgive me, but the truth of my visit is very personal. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me gone the moment I’ve said it.” Minerva paused, and Sunako motioned for her to continue. “Your child. I understand what you are going through.”

Sunako grew very still, although her outward expression didn’t change –she only moved to look down at her teacup in the space before Minerva spoke again.

“I was married for a little while.” She didn’t wear a wedding ring, but Elphinstone had always liked bucking tradition. “Elphinstone and I loved one another dearly, but in our country a war was being fought, both of us on the front lines. He died a year ago, and we were never able to have... well, _I’m_ unable. And since then, so many children I’ve watched grow up were killed fighting.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sunako asked.

“Because I wanted you to see that your grief won’t last forever, even though your love does. And I want you to understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to consider becoming Harry’s mother.”

Sunako seemed shocked into silence for a moment, before she turned red in the face.

“Why would you ask _me_ out of all the allies the Vongola has to offer? Surely a magical household would be a better option.” Sunako cast a look around the room and then stared out at the garden to their left. “To have him grow up an heir is no small decision. If I raised him, I would make no promises to be fair between magic and Flames, nor be unbiased if he asked my opinion on his future. I am not a selfless woman.”

“If he grows up loved and healthy then damn magic.” Minerva stated firmly. “Magic has hurt him enough, and to keep him with me would mean years of egg shells and worry. This may have come about by accident, but from what I’ve seen you and your husband are a good match. From what I’ve been told, you’re good people. I want Harry to be with good people.”

“...I see.”

Minerva and Sunako sat quietly for a few minutes, finishing the now lukewarm tea and inspecting the garden. From further in the house, Minerva could faintly hear bursts of laughter and good-natured yelling.

“Sakurai-san and I are going to have to talk this over, but...” Sunako broke the silence. “If he were to stay with us, what would you want for him, growing up? What were some expectations his parents had?”

Minerva had to smile. “I’d like for him to know about his parents –if I visited every so often I could handle that. James and Lily wanted him to attend Hogwarts, in Scotland, but that will be up to him. And if he could keep English at least, I would be happy...”

__

“Minerva, when did you get back?”

Minerva paused with her suitcase and papers so she could turn towards Albus. The Headmaster was smiling, genuinely interested in her answer, and for a split second Minerva was about to meet his eyes and respond warmly.

Then she remembered opening the door to Harry’s ‘bedroom’ and felt sick at her reflex to give this man the benefit of the doubt.

“Just a few minutes ago, Albus.” She said, slightly clipped.

“And how was it across the pond? You went to –Montreal, did you say? Or was it Ottawa?”

“Montreal. I’m terribly tired, Albus. Why don’t I tell you all about it over breakfast tomorrow?”

Thankfully Albus agreed and they parted ways soon after, and Minerva had to sequester herself in her rooms before she managed to loosen her shoulders and banish the awful roiling in her stomach.

Perhaps she should look into Occlumency, just as a failsafe for the years to come.

__

__

Flames and Harmonics Hospital of Italy - Fiamme e Armoniche Ospedale d'Italia


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note; So this seems to be the most popular of the new stories I have going, which is great b/c I have nearly all of it planned out! Just to circumvent some of the questions I’ve been getting –all the stories I’ve written for the KHR fandom have the same rules around flames and families, generally, so I hope that helps.
> 
> Also; Sorry if the format confuses you, but I do have an end goal for the sudden shift in perspective! It’ll all get ironed out.

Disclaimer; I don’t own anything.

Author’s Note; So this seems to be the most popular of the new stories I have going, which is great b/c I have nearly all of it planned out! Just to circumvent some of the questions I’ve been getting –all the stories I’ve written for the KHR fandom have the same rules around flames and families, generally, so I hope that helps.

Also; Sorry if the format confuses you, but I do have an end goal for the sudden shift in perspective! It’ll all get ironed out.

Vvv

When Harry went to bed the night of his second day back at Hogwarts, he didn’t expect to wake up the next morning close to hysterics, having dreamt very vividly of being a small child; of having crawled, searching for comfort, into the bed of two adults he didn’t know but in the dream had been his parents.

Harry woke up groggy and disoriented –the phantom sensation of a warm embrace and loving words from his mother, the feeling of safety as his father rubbed his back clinging to his skull and seeping into his bones –and Harry was sixteen, had lost his godfather not three months ago, and yet when he registered that he was in his school dorm and not in that very vivid, achingly wonderful dream, he broke down into tears.

His great, ugly sobbing woke up the other boys, and soon enough he had Ron seated at his side while Neville fretted at the foot of the bed and Dean and Seamus dug chocolate out and called up a House Elf for tea, respectively. Harry eventually quieted, but he couldn’t stop the tears that still poured out of his eyes, nor the hollow, overwhelming emptiness that opened up deep in his chest.

“I –I don’t _know_.” He managed to force out when Ron asked tentatively what had caused the fit. “I just had a –a dream about, I dunno, about being a kid or something. It was nice. But –But then I got sad, after.” Harry felt his cheeks go red at admitting that, but he wanted to be honest. An image flashed in his mind of his father from the dream, a fond yet exasperated expression on his face, and suddenly Harry was assaulted by a fresh wave of tears.

“Let it out, mate.” Ron said, obviously a little uncomfortable but his grip from where Harry was clutching at his hand was also grounding and firm, his face nothing but concerned. “You want some tea? Dobby didn’t bring it but it’s still good, nice and hot. Might help a little.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded, wiping at his eyes and grateful when they stayed dry. Once he took a few sips of the tea and ate half of the chocolate frog that Dean shoved in his hands it was like a switch flipped; the volume in the room stayed quiet but Ron and Neville started to joke with him, and Dean and Seamus’ conversation from the other bed grew a little less hesitant.

No one tried to fall back asleep for the hour or so until breakfast, so all five of them ended up in the Great Hall earlier than any of them had ever gone down before, given their general penchant for liking their sleep. Hermione looked downright scandalized to see them when she arrived half an hour later.

With the new classes for the day and getting waylaid every few minutes by Quidditch questions or summer stories, Harry almost managed to forget about his brief breakdown that morning, and went to bed again in the evening pleasantly tired –or maybe exhausted enough that hitting the pillow was more appealing than talking with his friends –and overall much happier for it.

Except, it kept happening.

The next morning, Harry woke up following a flurry of half baked snippets that ended with himself, still a child, at some sort of big family gathering. He didn’t cry after that one, but the entire day he got people’s names wrong, even calling Colin ‘Lambo’ of all things and addressing Hermione in some sort of foreign language before he realized who he was talking to.

Then the morning after that, Harry was crying again. The dream had skipped forward a few years to when he _should’ve_ been in his first year at Hogwarts; instead it showed him raising his fists to fight with a group of older boys who he couldn’t exactly hear the specifics of, but he knew all the same they were saying things he didn’t like. If it had been _just_ that, he probably wouldn’t have been so affected, but then he was shown the aftermath of that fight.

He was sitting on a bed –his knuckles were bandaged and two of his fingers were in splints, and his face and stomach and knee ached something fierce. The man he subconsciously labelled his father, though he was certainly not James Potter, sat next to him, rubbing his back and murmuring in that language he still couldn’t decipher. The woman, not Lily but still his mother, knelt in front of him and spoke quietly but firmly.

This time when he woke up the dorm with his crying, Ron refused to let him go to class, even enlisting Dobby’s help so he could be sure. True to form, the House Elf fussed and barely let him even leave the bed, going so far as to take Harry’s temperature every other hour and report the day’s happenings to Ron when the other boy got back.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” Harry admitted a few days later. It was a Sunday and that morning he had woken up so jarringly that he hadn’t been able to move for hours –Hermione called it Sleep Paralysis –because in his dreams he had met a small kid with brown hair and something about it had felt like he was being hit with a shocking curse around his brain. When he had napped during lunch he’d been jolted awake again by some kind of half blurry scene of wandering about a hallway. He had decided to bring it up to everyone who had gone with him to the Ministry, as well as Dean and Seamus, who had witnessed his sobbing fits. The eight of them were holed up in the Come and Go room instead of going to dinner, as Dobby had offered to bring them a meal when Harry mentioned it.

“It’s not Voldemort.” He clarified before anyone could ask. “I –I know what that feels like now. This is completely different.”

“Harry, you’ve been crying a _lot_.” Neville said gently. “And you’re as forgetful as I was first year. Maybe worse.”

Harry blushed at the comparison. “Yeah, I have been. And I’m so, so _angry_, and sad and –I’m feeling so much, all the time. It’s like I was never feeling at all before this. I don’t think someone’s making these up and putting them in my head. It’s like I’m remembering things.”

“Well, why not try to talk through some of it? Maybe the one from yesterday?” Hermione asked, referencing the only fit she’d seen, when he’d been asleep in the Common Room after dinner time. Ginny nodded in agreement, and at the end of the couch closest to the fire Luna was reading her father’s paper and glanced over at Harry every so often.

Harry was fine with talking about it. Maybe it would even help to get some outside perspective.

“Uh, well, that one, it was nice. Or at least, it was nice in the dream –when I woke up I was kinda freaked out.” Everyone looked attentive, and despite himself Harry already felt a little better. “So... So I was on a riverbank just, kicking around, I guess. Then some guys in a uniform for somewhere came up to me, and they were speaking another language so I didn’t really understand, and then I was fighting all of them.”

Harry shrugged at Ron’s startled look. “Well, really I was getting beat up pretty bad for the first couple of minutes. Me against, uh, six –but then Isami came back.”

“Who’s Isami?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know how I know.” Harry shrugged again, feeling a little silly now.”And I don’t know what he came back from or why I was so –so _elated_ to see him, but I was. It’s like I was waiting all week.”

“Then what happened?” Ginny prompted.

“Um, he took two by surprise, which gave me a chance to, ha, punch a couple out.” Harry grinned at the snorts Dean and Ginny let out. “And there were only two left to handle. Many hands, light work and all that. Then, just before I woke up, Isami punched me in the face and yelled at me, and then we were fighting each other, but in a happy way, and I understood something he said.” Harry fiddled with his shirt cuff. “He said, ‘You fucking criminal.’ And all I said back was, ‘We Momoda are patient, Class Rep.’”

Silence reigned for a minute or two while everyone digested his story.

“That’s way too detailed to be some random dream.” Seamus decided.

“Isami and Momoda? Those sound like Asian names of some kind.” Hermione was already scribbling away on a spare piece of parchment.

“Harry did anything similar happen over the summer? Did the river look like a place in Surrey, or somewhere you’ve been before?”

“No...”

“You called Hermione ‘Isamichi’ a few days ago.” Luna said airily, making the whole room blink at her in surprise.

“I’d forgotten about that.” Hermione frowned. “Harry, Luna, what do you remember about the exchange?”

“It was the third day back.” Luna told her. “Hermione was asking you about NEWTs next year and if you were still thinking about the DMLE.”

“I didn’t cry that morning.” Harry recalled absently. “I had a bunch of short dreams, less than a minute each, before a bigger one. Isami wasn’t in it, though.”

“How about the word Momoda?”

“N –wait. It was...” Harry could see it, murky as fog.

_He must have been very young, four years old at the most, because the vision was fuzzy at the edges and his attention shifted mercurially, never in one spot for very long. He started out up high, held in someone’s arms so he could look out at the veritable crowd milling around the garden, and then after some amount of time he had been set down in a quieter area with a few other children._

_There was an eight or nine year old boy who seemed particularly interested in playing with him, and he’d let Harry pull at his hair for a few minutes before he asked if they could walk around. Harry had tugged him along by the hand and pointed at plants, and later played with the older boy and a buff adult woman by tossing a ball around, even if Harry hadn’t been able to catch it much._

_The dream transitioned softly into a large dinner where he was sitting between two adults –his mother and father? –and he could just barely make out that the table was filled with men and women in unfamiliar clothes with some children sitting scattered throughout. When the food arrived, Harry had bent backward to see and noticed a crest on the wall that, somehow in remembering this, he could identify as reading ‘Momoda’ in a stylized font, in a language he didn’t know._

“...I saw a room with a lot of people in it, and Momoda was written in a crest on the wall.”

“A family? A group, maybe? You said ‘we Momoda’ to Isami.” Dean tapped on the paper Hermione was still scribbling on.

They all sat, stumped, for a few minutes; the harder Harry tried to think about those small scenes from a few days back, the less he seemed able to pick out.

“If we had a computer we could just _search_ for it.” Hermione grouched.

“_Waka-ji wa nani o subeki ka shittetadarou..._” Harry mumbled unhappily.

“_What?_” Came from several directions, Hermione already copying down whatever he had said.

“I think you might just... need to sleep more, Harry.” Neville suggested.

Harry thought that over, thought about the meeting with Dumbledore the day before yesterday and the awful, chilling dream he’d seen that night, of going back to a graveyard of tombstones with foreign words inscribed on them and breaking down crying both in his dream and then when he woke up. He thought about how he wouldn’t have to meet the Headmaster again for at least another two weeks, and that even when the dreams made him cry it still felt _right_. Like something good was happening.

“Yeah.” Harry sighed, feeling tired already.

Vvv

_Harry was older, now, able to run over on his own and clamber over the playground equipment without anyone holding his hand or sticking too close. Today he was accompanied by a man with a shock of bleached blonde hair styled into a curl over his forehead, who sat on one of the benches over by the tree line and was given a wide berth by the parents of the other children who were playing._

_He still couldn’t understand what was being said by anyone in the dream, but he knew that what he wanted at that moment was to be included in the other kids’ play. It was eerily similar to his only half-remembered memories of Privet Drive when he went up to a couple of kids in the sand pit and their parents very quickly came to collect them and left the park altogether. _

_So Harry watched them go, but shrugged it off in the way that small children did. They had to leave –oh well! But then he tried to talk to one of the kids he saw at the park often, and they managed to play a bit of tag before she too was pulled away by her father and left._

_Now Harry was confused, especially when he started talking to a boy and the other child just walked away after telling him he ‘wasn’t allowed to talk to you’. After that rebuke, Harry resigned himself to playing alone, hyper aware of the glare that his –uncle, he was his uncle –was directing at the parents still in the park. The two of them walked back home after a little while, his uncle hoisting him up on his shoulders to try and cheer him up, and by the echoes of laughter, it must have._

Another week went by, and Harry kept dreaming.

His dreams never showed him anything past his current age, and cycled through this strange other life on a loop, skipping to or from his childhood after a recent one. They didn’t get any less confusing even after Harry started to understand more and more of what was being said. A lot of the time, it was like words and sentences would just jump out at him at random. Sometimes they were significant and meaningful, like when he heard his dream mother tell him that she loved him. But then other times it was something small or even useless, like the scarred, burly man a few nights ago who had gruffly demanded he, ‘Pass the noodle sauce, dipshit’.

One thing that was happening consistently was that Harry was becoming increasingly distracted, and in many cases agitated, as more and more of these visions came to him.

He just felt so angry about –about _something_ in his life when he tried to think about it, like there was an aspect so obviously wrong that he was staring it straight in the face but still couldn’t _see it._ And when he wasn’t angry he was sad, or wired, or confrontational which, thank god _that_ mood hadn’t turned up during one of Snape’s classes, otherwise he’d be scrubbing cauldrons until his hair turned grey.

And all of these amplified feelings only served to, when pressed by Hermione, resolutely confirm to Harry that whatever this was didn’t have a single thing to do with Voldemort.

“I know better now. When he-” Harry paused to check that no one else in the Common Room was listening. “-showed me Sirius, I definitely felt weird about it. There was pain, a slight waver to the look of things. This though, if I didn’t know any better I’d say I lived it.”

“Mate, it’s, I feel like a nag saying it again, but it’s really affecting you.” Ron offered, ears tinged red self consciously. “You nearly punched Malfoy out. First off, that’s ‘Mione’s gig.”

“Ron!”

“Second, the prick barely even did anything that time. And _I’m _saying that.” Ron also checked that the others in the room were occupied elsewhere. “Maybe you should talk to Dumbledore about it.”

“I’d sooner talk to Trelawney.” Harry stared at the fire, a pinch in his brow until Hermione spoke.

“How about, unless Harry wants to, we hold off on bringing it up to anyone besides the ones who already know.” She put forth diplomatically, and Harry lost a bit of tension in his shoulders. “Until you say you want outside help, Harry, let’s just wait. You know yourself best.”

“I love you, ‘Mione,” Harry draped himself across her lap like a cat and made his friends laugh. “If I didn’t already have Isami, I’d totally want you to be my saiko-komon.”

“Ah, Isami again.” Ron noted, grabbing for the little notebook Hermione had started carrying around.

“’Psychokomon’? Ron, write that down.” Ron nodded diligently. “Professor Flitwick says he can dig up a good translation spell, but he’s having me learn similar ones in advance so he knows that I can handle casting it properly.”

“You don’t have to do that, Hermione.”

“Of course I do, you’re one of my best friends.” She said simply, no nonsense tone leaving very little room for protest.

“Tell us about last night’s, mate.” Ron prompted, book and quill at the ready. “You seemed in a good mood today.”

“Oh. Well, I think I saw my little sister?” Harry snorted at their double-takes. “It was really recent, I’m pretty sure. I walked down a hall in the house and when I got to a room at the end of it my, uh, mother in these dreams was in bed with a baby. She looked pretty happy to see me, and when I went over I got to hold the little thing.” Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “And I fed and changed her like I’d done it a hundred times.”

“That’s... that’s really nice.”

“It was.” Harry shrugged; that was an understatement. “Now if only I knew where it was coming from.”

Vvv

_In the dream, Harry was sitting with his parents in a cozy living room, and the three of them were speaking seriously about something. He felt a sense of distress in his chest every now and then, offset by the differing feeling of wanting to push them away and burrow closer. He understood a few words as his parents grew emotional –the word ‘adoption’ was common, and then snippets of the rest, little phrases like ‘love you’ and ‘so grateful’, and ‘our son, you’ve always been ours’. Harry cried at some point and clung to their encircling arms like he couldn’t bear to let them go, as an odd warmth pulsed out of the vague chest area of his father and into his own, which did a lot to soothe him._

_Harry heard himself speak, and though he didn’t catch much of it, he got the impression he was voicing a lot of insecurities. His parents did their best to reassure him in their own ways –his mother spoke softly and firmly to him, while his father rebuked his statements and reinforced that they would not change their love for him now. _

_After some time, Harry’s uncle and aunt (or at least, the closest of many, Harry was quickly coming to understand) entered the room, and obliged him when he asked more questions, pleaded for physical reassurance. There was more talk that Harry was swiftly fading out of, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t hold onto it until-_

_-the scene switched abruptly, and Harry was in another room with his mother and a woman he immediately recognized –Professor McGonagall. As the dream progressed, Harry’s mind stalled and so he didn’t manage to follow much of what the adults were saying to him, until McGonagall produced a wand and showed him an example of simple magic. The overlap of Harry’s younger self felt curious about the display, but not shocked, and even less so when his mother had him turn her way for a moment._

_His mother lit up her hand with a strange red energy, one that looked simultaneously like flame and blood, and that didn’t hurt Harry when he fearlessly reached forward to feel it. Indeed, it spread a warmth through his fingers that was comforting, it felt like **home**, and this time when McGonagall spoke he paid full attention because he recognized what she was saying –because she was speaking in **English**._

_“Your birth-parents would have liked you to attend Hogwarts, but they also wanted you to be happy,” she said, and he had never seen his Professor look fond, per say, but there it was, directed at him. “You’re still developing, but you’ll have to decide soon, just remember.”_

_“Oh.” Harry heard himself say, and then he looked down at his mother’s hand briefly before meeting McGonagall’s eyes. “I think I know which, already.”_

If there was one thing Harry had already hated before all this worry over his dreams took over his life, it was when people bad-mouthed his parents. Whether it was Malfoy’s snide remarks or his relative’s awful comments, rarely was he left unaffected upon hearing them, and it usually resulted in his temper going off in pretty spectacular ways.

But ever since he had begun seeing things from some life he hadn’t lived, that had changed. The sphere of people he did not tolerate the belittling of increased from his parents to include the five who had accompanied him to the Ministry, and then on to the members of the former DA, and even after that to random Professors like Hagrid and McGonagall.

McGonagall may not have been an odd addition, considering she had made an appearance in one or two of the strange dreams over the course of the past few weeks, but the fact that she _had _actually made things worse. It didn’t seem like she was at all aware of those events, which threw a serious wrench into Harry’s working theory about these being weird suppressed memories, and that didn’t exactly improve his mood overall. But regardless, he had added a slew of people whom he felt viciously protective over, and the new emotions associated with that were hard to parse even on the best of days.

And then there was his newfound reaction to threats to them.

“Mr. Potter, this is the third time in a week that you’ve been to my office for fighting.” For once Harry didn’t cow under McGonagall’s stern glare, and her frown deepened. “I feel as if taking the Quidditch captaincy from you would not faze you.”

Inside, two parts of Harry were warring against each other, with smaller battles being fought on the sidelines. McGonagall was one of the people he had subconsciously labelled as ‘his’ now, and that made him want to do his best to alleviate her worries. But apparently she didn’t know _why_ Harry saw her that way, and that irked him something fierce, that she could forget something so important, that maybe the visions in his head were fake after all. Throughout, a small part of Harry was screaming, ‘It would faze me! It would!’, but a much larger and uglier part was what responded, “If you think it necessary.”

Clearly that had not been what McGonagall wanted to hear.

“I do not wish it to be.” She sighed and took a long sip of her tea. “Mr. Potter, _Harry_, please. It’s obvious something is wrong. This isn’t how you normally act.”

“How would you know _anythin’_ about me? You only ever see me in this nightmare school, where half the time I’m scared I’m gonna _die_.” Harry ground out, unreasonably angry at a teacher who had always treated him fairly, completely justified in his anger because she didn’t _know _him anymore –had she ever? “Ban me from Quidditch then, I don’t regret it.”

“No.” Harry looked up suddenly in confusion. “Punishing you for this will only make things worse. You are a student of my house, and I will do what is best for you.” She raised an eyebrow at Harry’s gobsmacked expression. “That said, if this happens even one more time, you _will _lose your captaincy. Any more than that and your seeker position is on the line. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry said, inwardly reeling.

When Harry got back to the Common Room, Neville and Ginny were by the fire doing their homework, and they both waved him over once they caught sight of him standing dazed by the portrait hole. Ginny told him before he even had the chance to ask that Ron and Hermione were off checking the owlery for a letter, but she abruptly quieted when she caught sight of his face.

“What happened?” She demanded, drawing Neville’s attention away from his Herbology essay.

“I think I’m going insane.” Harry said, at the same time both utterly convinced of the statement and something niggling at his brain that told him he had no _clue_ what he was talking about. “I just told McGonagall to take away my captaincy if it would help her sleep at night.”

“Merlin, Harry.” Neville breathed.

“I hate to say it, but Ron’s right. This isn’t you, Harry.” Ginny looked legitimately worried –Harry wondered when he had stopped thinking about how charming she was. He was sure there had been a moment or two in the summer when he had given thought to maybe, possibly, asking her to Hogsmeade, but now he couldn’t even recall the feeling. Just fondness for a friend. “What is taking Hermione’s parents so long to get back to us?”

“Way more important than tooth magic.” Neville muttered, making Harry give him an odd look.

“Did you seriously just say ‘tooth magic’.”

Vvv

_It was the boy who Harry had met at that dinner when he was very small, now probably in his mid-teens, sat on Harry’s left on the back deck while it rained and the sky was dark, and he looked very troubled. Instantly Harry was filled with fondness for him, but also a deep sadness as they spoke, for he knew that the reason the boy looked like this was because of what Harry was telling him._

_Harry could still only understand a few words, but there was an impression he was becoming better at sussing out as well. There had been a bit of bullying, maybe, or the same shunning from his peers that he had seen throughout his younger years, and now he knew it had something to do with his family. This boy, Harry realized right then, was his cousin, and knew intimately what Harry was feeling because he too had experienced the same. It was such a different relationship when Harry compared it to the nonexistent one he had had with Dudley._

_Come to think of it, every dream he had was like an eerie reverse of what he knew from his childhood. Instead of absent parents, there was a mother and father who doted on him with love; where he had once only known the distant distaste of Vernon and Petunia, here he felt the care of the blonde man and buff woman, and many others in the wings ready to take their places; where he and Dudley barely knew each other for all the years spent in close quarters, here was this cousin who he seldom saw but who he could crack his heart open to at a thought. Even the fact that at Hogwarts he had few friends and many who only knew his reputation was like a parallel of what he’d glimpsed in other dreams._

_The other boy hugged him unexpectedly in the middle of Harry’s musing, and he heard a muffled sentence pressed into his hair that he understood._

_“If you keep the love of our family, it’ll get better, cousin.”_

_Harry nodded, overcome from the simple sentiment, and they stayed outside in the rain for a long time after that._

“Harry! Ron, Neville!”

They turned to see the other three of their intrepid core group clambering through the portrait hole, Hermione clutching her bookbag close as if she’d been running, Ginny with an amused grin and Luna floating along behind them like she wasn’t quite sure where she was yet. From across the room Harry caught Dean’s eye and waved him and Seamus over, just in time for Hermione to bounce on her heels in excitement.

“I’ve got the spell down!” She exclaimed, and jumped up and down like an excited kid. “Harry, I _don’t_ even _care_, use that Muffliato spell! I can’t wait to do this!”

“Okay, okay, just a second.” Harry laughed, the tiredness from the long school day already lifting.

Once Harry ensured their privacy, Hermione pulled her wand out and then produced her quill, ink and little notebook of Harry’s odd phrases from her bag. The rest of them waited curiously as she handed them all to Harry, explaining that he would be the one she cast the spell on, so he could also understand what was being said in his dreams. Due to the structure of the spell, it would only last a month, and was normally used to help with short term visits to other countries, or to assist the person in learning the basics of a language.

Previously, Hermione had written her parents to have them identify the language he’d been speaking, and they had tentatively coined it as Japanese –luckily it was such a distinctive language, otherwise they might have had a harder time of it. Harry took her suggestion to write any extra phrases he remembered down, just so he could keep track and he wouldn’t overload his brain trying to recall them all with the sudden clarity it would provide.

And, slowly, some of their questions were answered.

“_Karera wa anatade wa naku, hazubekidesu._” Harry tested it out slowly, a bit dizzy already but forcing himself to focus on this one phrase first. “It, uh, basically means that _they _should be the ones ashamed, not you. Well, me.” He traced the next line with care. “And Isami, the name means courage.”

“Well, we already figured that Isami was a name. What’s that other one from, Harry?” Ron asked.

“It’s –from the third night. My mother –in the dreams –told me it after I got into a scrap with some older boys. I can’t remember what they said to make me so angry, though.” Harry went on, a slow smile breaking out along with a chuckle. “_Shinu jutbi wa dekimashita ka?_ Hah, that’s, it means, ready to die? Basically. Then Momoda, it’s a surname probably in the context I read it, and it uses the character for ‘peach’.”

“’Ready to die’?” Ginny repeated, fighting a smile herself. “_Please_ tell me that’s what you told Malfoy.”

“That’s later. This is from that riverbank dream with Isami –the guys we were fighting.”

“No wonder you didn’t understand them. They were so lame you didn’t _want_ to.” Seamus snickered, and Harry laughed along with him for a moment, before he moved along to the next sentence.

_“Fakku Abenomics, watashi wa tadashidesu ka?” _Harry pursed his lips, then looked at Hermione apologetically. “Fuck Abenomics, am I right?” Despite herself, Hermione didn’t do anything more than shake her head. “Abenomics... I think that’s some kind of economic policy? I’m getting the name Shinzo Abe for some reason.”

“He’s the current Prime Minister of Japan,” Luna piped up, and everyone regarded her serene expression for a moment.

“Looks like you’re probably not dreaming about wizards, huh?” Dean said.

“Hm, _Momokyou-kai _means ‘peach organization’, roughly. Then there’s...” Harry read the line, but before he could repeat it, his mind gave a translation, ‘Uncle Waka would know what to do.’ “Shit.” Harry sucked in a startled breath, staring at the explanation of the name he’d seen on –on a –

“Harry, breathe slower.” Luna said from out of nowhere, and she kept a grip on his wrist that was tight enough to pull him back to himself. He struggled to comply, a lot of his attention still on the page that told him –that said his _uncle was_ –

Hermione moved the book out of sight, and suddenly Harry could think again.

“Sorry, sorry.” He shuddered out, grasping at Luna’s hands to keep himself present. “I just. I _saw-_”

“Harry, do you want to stop? We can stop.” Ginny assured him, and Harry had no idea what he was feeling right now, but it was warm and he wanted more of it.

“Harry, what happened?”

“Let’s stop, this was too much at once...”

“I’m... I want to keep going.” Harry said firmly. “I want to know what this _is. _I know you guys are worried; that name, Imada Wakatoshi, I think he was my uncle in my dreams and, and he’s dead.”

No one made a move to bring the notebook back, so Harry gently released Luna’s hands and looked at Hermione expectantly. That did the trick, although of course she was still a bit hesitant. When Harry looked at the page again, he made sure to avoid the sentence that had set him off, and instead moved quickly into the next two.

“Okay, so, a _saiko-komon_ is literally a ‘top/senior advisor’, and it’s used a lot in the Yakuza hierarchy. The Yakuza are members of... organized crime in...” Harry realized what he was saying and stopped. He heard Hermione muttering to herself about ‘peach organizations’ and ‘if I didn’t already have Isami’, and took a breath before he went on. “_Kokatsukaide sae anata o kyohi surudeshou. _Well, Ginny, _that’s _what I said to Malfoy. It means, ‘Even the Kokatsu-kai would refuse you.’ And if you were getting the snippets of them that I was fielding right now, you’d understand how big an insult that was.”

His friends laughed briefly until Harry sucked in another breath, but he waved off their concerned questions –he had only been startled, because he’d forgotten about this one. “_O-Ochitsuite, Mio. Sorede idesu._”

No, nevermind, Harry really had to stop. He pushed the notebook away again and held his head; suddenly he didn’t want the images that were trying to force themselves behind his eyelids, he didn’t want to know what was happening right now, he didn’t _want this anymore. _His friends let him breathe deeply, someone’s hand rubbing circles on his back, until he finally managed to come to a decision.

“Can someone please knock me out?” He pleaded, not looking up. “I can’t –sorry, I need to wait to keep going.” There was some murmuring, trying to figure out who knew the best spell, and in the end it turned out to be Neville. Harry followed the other boy up the stairs and got ready for bed in record time, thanking his dorm mate quietly as he lay down. Neville smiled shyly and said it wasn’t any problem, and then Harry knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay! This is the last chapter I have completely pre-written, but the rest is being actively worked on! Expect the next chapter in a week :)

The dream that night was different. As were all his dreams afterwards.

_Hanato met Mikumo Isami a few days into their first year of middle school, when Isami noticed his non-regulation backpack and told him off for it. The next day Isami sat down in his chair and found that all the lead for his pencils had been taken and hung from a string in the ceiling above his head._

_Isami had stared at it a moment before making a beeline for Hanato’s classroom, and so began their relationship._

_After primary school, Hanato was well aware that some of his classmates would be nervous around him just based on his family. Making them laugh was a good way to lighten any mood, and a great way to show them he wasn’t going to bite their heads off if they relaxed in his presence. Having Isami to rile up and come after him right back meant that the whole situation was fun for Hanato too._

_In first year, Hanato fell into a bit of a routine. He and Isami would play cat and mouse with pranks and detentions (once Isami was voted Class Rep it added a whole new dimension to their game), easing up on each other during exams but not for many other occasions. Occasionally Hanato would nag Isami for use of his notes or try and pilfer a bit of his lunch, but they didn’t actually talk much or see each other outside school._

_By second year, Isami had once again been voted Class Rep and soon became the most popular kid in his class. Everyone knew that if they needed advice or help with something they could always go to him and he would treat their request with fairness and seriousness_. _Hanato, by their second year, was still known as a Yakuza boss’s kid, but those in his year and below had also realized that he wasn’t going to snap on **them**._ _Lots of people were still wary of him and his admittedly ferocious temper, but there were also those who approached him if they were being harassed. He received a lot of thank you notes even though he never brought up that he took care of their issue on his own._

_Come third year, Hanato could actually say he would miss his middle school once he graduated, something he hadn’t felt for his old primary school. This year he and Isami had ended up in the same class, his grades were improving with every week he didn’t skip, and he had finally grasped how to manifest both of his Flames simultaneously._

_If only Tominaga Roji hadn’t crawled out from under his rock._

_Tominaga transferred in a third of the way through the year, and Hanato remembered him from their last year of primary. Tominaga had been wary of him then and he hated him now, **why**_ _though, Hanato couldn’t even begin to guess. But he knew that Tominaga had it out for him, and would’ve beat him to a pulp at the first offhand remark about his parents if not for one thing._

_Tominaga Roji was Isami’s best friend._

_Like it or not, Isami knew Tominaga from before that one year he had been Hanato’s classmate, and the two were practically inseparable. Every time Hanato pulled Isami’s pigtails, so to speak, Tominaga was there frowning in the background. Every time Isami dragged Hanato back to class after chasing him down, Tominaga would look over and sneer or mumble under his breath when he passed Hanato’s seat later. Hanato didn’t know if Tominaga had made his opinion of him clear to Isami, but which was worse; that he hadn’t and Isami was blind enough to not notice, or that he had and Isami just didn’t care?_

_It came to a head at the beginning of midterm prep._

_By now, Hanato had gotten a pretty good feel for when he should leave Isami alone and when the other boy would appreciate a laugh at his own expense. Exam season could be a bit iffy on that front, but this time Hanato was fairly sure a small joke would go over well._

_So a minute or two after break started, Hanato stood up and started toward the back door, tapping Isami on the shoulder as he passed and saying, “Shoe check!” with a cheerful wink._

_Isami made a vague noise of disbelief and leaned around his desk to see what Hanato had done, most of the class turning to look along with him. Hanato let out a bark of laughter and there were a number of other snickers when Isami levelled him with a grim stare, holding up the shoe soiled with wasabi paste for all to see._

_“Momoda!” Isami growled, and Hanato was already darting through the door by the time the shoe sailed across the room and smacked him in the shoulder. For once though, Isami’s amused yelling didn’t follow him out, and Hanato found himself a little disappointed by that._

_“Aw, boring.” He mumbled, leaning against the wall next to the open door. It was nice to hear the chatter that returned to the room after his dramatic escape, the previous tension of exam drills almost completely dissipated._

_“That asshole, he might’ve ruined your shoe.” Tominaga said heatedly from near the door, probably retrieving Isami’s fallen footwear for him._

_“Thanks Roji-kun, but, it’s fine. Look, it comes right off.” Isami replied diplomatically. “Besides, it was funny. Like, how did he even get it there?” There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, someone who was probably Inata or Yumiko piping up that she hadn’t seen Hanato move all period. Tominaga scoffed._

_“I don’t get how you do it, Isami-kun.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Y’know, act like Momoda’s just some **guy**_. _I’d be afraid of getting stabbed if I chased him down like you do.”_

_The noise level in the room plunged, and Hanato swallowed thickly. He didn’t dare move, not now that it was happening, not now that he could actually_ **_find_**_ **out**_.

_“Excuse me,_ **_what_**?” _Isami exclaimed, almost sounding angry._

_“Don’t be thick, Isami-kun. Everyone knows what his family is.” Tominaga went on. “I can’t believe how much of his stupid shit you put up with. If I were you he’d have been expelled by now.”_

_“Don’t you get annoyed by it, Mikumo-kun?” Sasakibe asked tentatively._

_“Come to think of it, Momoda almost never pranks anyone_ **_except_** you.” _Akaashi said._

_“Since first year, right?” That was Gouda. “Jeez, Mikumo, you don’t have to just take that kind of thing...”_

_“Momoda-kun could be back any **second**_.”

_Everyone stopped talking at Isami’s voice, and Hanato had to force himself not to bolt, his hands clenched tight around the end of his uniform jacket. He had to know, he had to, he_ **_had to._**

_“How do you think he would feel if he heard you talking about him like this? Have a little shame,” Isami said scathingly. “This might come as a **shock**, but Momoda-kun isn’t a Yakuza member. He might have a temper and scars on his face, and his family might be criminals, but when has he been anything other than helpful when it’s been asked of him? When has he ever **done** anything to you?”_

_No one said anything, and when Hanato caught sight of the teacher coming around the corner he bolted so he wouldn’t have to explain why he was crying._

_The days following that incident passed almost as if nothing had been said. Hanato maybe eased up on teasing Isami, but that was more due to the approaching exams than anything else. Isami still hung out with Tominaga, and Hanato was still pulled into his classmates’ conversations, so Hanato was almost ready to let the whole affair blow over without acknowledging it._

_“Momoda, and you?”_

_ “Oh, I’m taking Rindou High’s exam, along with Namimori High and Jogush_ _ō Technical. I’m not sure about post-secondary though, I’m probably not smart enough for it!” Hanato’s comment prompted a bit of laughter from his peers, even Inoue-sensei joined in._

_“Suzuran too high a bar?” Inoue-sensei asked, and Hanato laughed again, shrugging as if to say ‘maybe’ and not particularly bothered by the insinuation._

_The next few people went, each getting a few tidbits of advice or pointers for their weaknesses, one even a recommendation for a different, better school, and then it was Isami’s turn._

_“I’m applying to Rindou High, then to Setagaya University, hopefully for a law degree.” He said, cool as a cucumber, like he hadn’t just declared the Japanese equivalent of Stephen Hawking applying for a degree from Trump University. _

_“Setagaya certainly has famous alumni, I can see why you made that choice, Mikumo.” Inoue-sensei said without missing a beat._

_During break, Tominaga and Isami disappeared for a short while and then Isami returned red-faced and absolutely beside himself, Tominaga nowhere to be seen until he slunk back into the room just after the bell had rung._

_At lunch, Isami didn’t so much as glance Tominaga’s way before he picked up his seat and parked it at Hanato’s desk._

_“Isami-kun, we’re heading out.” Tominaga called from the door, an odd inflection to it that Hanato didn’t like. Isami turned around long enough to level the other boy with a frosty glare and said,_

_“I’m aware, Tominaga-san.”_

_And then he spun right back around and opened up his lunch, winning Hanato’s heart in a single sentence. Hanato stared slack-jawed as Tominaga left with a huff and Isami’s ears turned steadily redder as the whispers about his power move started up._

_“Holy shit,” Hanato blurted, like a dunce, and Isami smiled._

_And then it kept happening. At first Hanato didn’t know how to react to his new lunch buddy, sure that this bout of teen drama and spite would blow over eventually. But after a few days Hanato figured he might as well enjoy the company for however long he had it._

_As it soon became apparent, he and Isami weren’t exactly drift compatible. Sure, they had a lot that they could talk about, and a surprising number of things in common, but two and a half years of interacting as they had led to a lot of debates turning into arguments and joking becoming bickering. It didn’t help that as the exams drew closer Isami got more stressed and Hanato was more inclined to skip or get into fights._

_It started to smooth over by the third week Isami had been sitting with him for lunch, by the time that Tominaga and one or two others had opted to ignore Isami altogether instead of hanging back after class to talk some ‘sense’ into him. Or maybe that had more to do with Hanato starting to stay behind to help Isami with his cleaning duties, but who could say?_

_Anyway, with Isami now regularly on his case about it, Hanato decided it would be a lot more peaceful if he just stopped skipping so much. If he couldn’t stop himself from remembering Isami telling their classmates off whenever he really wanted to ditch, well that was his own problem. Once or twice Hanato had even managed to convince Isami to put off his studying, usually when he could see that Isami would implode if left to his own devices for any longer._

_And luckily, their arguments quieted down; it was Isami who restrained himself at first, when one day he said, “I don’t like_ **_fighting_** _all the damn time.”, and Hanato followed suite soon after. Hanato wasn’t going to complain; it felt nice to have someone to talk to who was his own age and who didn’t care much about his family or his reputation. It was easy to restrain his argumentative tendencies after that, when he knew Isami would as well._

_They got through their exams and in the end felt pretty damn good about them –Isami was confident enough in his own abilities, and when he quizzed Hanato through the last few weeks it had definitely helped him get back up to speed after so much skipping. Come the end of class Hanato got called in to the English teacher’s office and Isami waved him off, saying they could meet up at the lockers and go from there to get something to eat. And when Koboyashi-sensei informed him that he scored first in the year on his English exam, Hanato’s mood was pushed even higher._

_It took a sharp nosedive downward when he reached the lockers and saw Isami arguing with Tominaga; the two of them were so engrossed that they didn’t even notice when Hanato got closer and heard a definite ‘yakuza’ and ‘momoda’ thrown around._

_Hanato didn’t like to interfere with other people’s fights if he hadn’t been asked to, regardless of whether or not he was the cause of the argument. But Isami was his –friend? –and Hanato had never seen him so much as threaten a punch, and if he clocked Tominaga like it appeared he was going to, that wouldn’t look good on his record._

_So when the two boys dissolved into yelling (and wasn’t **that** a **look** on Isami) and Isami raised his arm in preparation to throw down, Hanato smoothly cut in. He pushed Isami’s arm down, swivelled to face Tominaga fully, and broke his nose in one clean hit. Tominaga fell back on his ass, and Hanato hoisted him up by the collar of his uniform to address him easier._

_“If you don’t stop with this bullshit, I will **actually** stab you in the gut. **Get** **me**?!” Hanato demanded, giving Tominaga a violent shake; the other teen nodded around his tears, one hand clamped over his gushing nose. “And feel free to rat me out for kicking your ass, but keep in mind that I know where you live. Fucking shithead.”_

_Tominaga dropped like a sack of potatoes the moment Hanato released him, and he scrambled away and out the doors the instant he had his feet back underneath him. Hanato scoffed and wiped a bit of blood off onto his uniform pants, and then he remembered who exactly it was behind him right now, and who exactly had seen him act like that._

_When he turned around, Isami wasn’t even looking at him. The Class Rep had already dug his shoes out of his locker and was in the middle of pulling them on –Hanato was mystified._

_“Good to go?” Isami prompted, and with a start Hanato rushed to grab his shoes from his own locker._

_They made a quick choice to go to an Oden stand that had set itself up a few blocks away from the school; it had a few benches lined up next to it on the street, where the both of them ate their piping hot orders in the fast cooling afternoon air. It was more awkward than the Hanato of an hour ago had envisioned._

_“Look,” Hanato began, noticing Isami tense up next to him. “I might not be a member yet, but –but someday I will be. I might even succeed my Dad. Hanging out with me, it’s not good for people. You shouldn’t ruin your reputation over some middle school spat. It’s not worth it.”_

_A big reason why Hanato had grown to really like Isami was that he was a guy made up of contradictions. He was short and muscular but couldn’t play a sport to save his life; voted Class Rep three years in a row, studious and a stickler for the rules, but at the same time everyone liked him, listened to him and went to him without thinking twice. He was easily embarrassed and cared about how other people saw him, but he stuck to his principles and almost never held a grudge._

_Hanato figured out not a month into first year that riling up the diplomatic and level headed Class Rep was a heck of a lot of fun, but it wasn’t until they became friends that he saw that Isami was a flat out, unpredictable **riot**_.

_“You should’ve kicked him where it hurts.” Isami said flatly after chewing his carrot for a long minute. “He’s an asshole. Keeping on about your Dad or your family, saying he’s worried. Worried! About **you**! I can’t believe I was ever friends with him.”_

_“Mikumo-kun, it’s fine.”_

_“No it’s **not**!”_ _Isami snapped. “I won’t let him just –just_ **_say_** _shit like that!”_

_Hanato looked down at his shoes, trying to find a way to respond to this. It was one thing to know someone said awful things about you behind your back, it was one thing to overhear it, but it was quite another kettle of fish to ask someone to tell you the specifics._

_“What did he say?” Hanato asked, already tired; if some of it included ‘masochist’ then Tominaga might actually be onto something._

_By the way Isami clammed up, it was obviously pretty bad._

_“At first, it wasn’t too bad. Just the same stuff people say about you when all they know is that your family’s Yakuza. That –That you’re violent or unstable. That your temper snaps at random, or –that you shake first years down for money.” Isami’s face was crumpled up. “Shit, I thought it was just ‘cause he didn’t_ **_know_**_ you, but it just got **worse**. **Kami**, Momoda, I’m so sorry.”_

_“What else?” Hanato pushed._

_“Momoda-kun-”_

_“Dammit Mikumo, just tell me!” Hanato spat, and immediately regretted it. “I won’t go and kill him, but I –I need to know. I’m gonna be hearing it the rest of my life.”_

_Isami cracked. “Roji and Okara –it was –I couldn’t even **reason** with them. If I heard it from other people they’d at least admit they were rumours, but those two –I hate them! How dare they, how fucking dare they tell me that you’re into fucking –drugs and shop-lifting and –**fuck**!”_

_“M-Mikumo?” Hanato floundered a little, not having expected Isami to get so upset about this._

_“And when_ **_that_** _didn’t change my mind, they said you were gay and looking for a boyfriend, as if I wasn’t the one to go have lunch with_ **_you_**_! As if I would even **care** about that kind of thing **anyway**!”_ _Isami was well and truly upset now, and Hanato wanted to assure him that the opinions of dickheads like them really didn’t matter, but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth when he opened it._

_Instead he started laughing, and within a minute he was absolutely hysterical with it, clutching his sides and doubled over in his seat. In his distraction he almost didn’t notice his Flames reaching out for Isami’s, already looking for connection even though the other boy’s Cloud Flames weren’t active. Hanato managed to sober enough to reign them in, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe, someday..._

_“They figured me out!” He gasped. “They uncovered my plan! How’d they know, I was so careful!”_

_“Oh, come off it.” Isami mumbled, but he wore a tremulous smile now. “I was angrier with him than I’ve been my entire life. You’re the one who wouldn’t let me hit him.”_

_“Well, even if I’m trying to get in your pants-” Isami snorted. “-I still think you shouldn’t get in fights for my sake. I can take any shmuck who wants to badmouth me, and you should let me.”_

_“...okay.” Isami conceded, looking a little disgruntled. “But then, you have to tell me about it. I don’t wanna be friends with someone who treats you like garbage.”_

_“Guess we can’t be friends, then.”_

_“Momoda!”_

Harry remembered it, and yet he didn’t. Parts were missing from his waking brain, like they were stuck behind a film when he tried to see them again, though he _knew_ he had seen something while asleep that he couldn’t recall while he was awake. It was frustrating, the _knowing, _the not knowing anything at all. Whatever it was, it messed with his sleep so much that he only made it down to the Great Hall before he slumped and fell back into a slumber right at the breakfast table. It took half an hour for anyone to wake him up again.

Even half an hour was enough to shoot him back, this time to a dream significantly more upsetting.

_They told him after the first trimester had passed without complications. His mother was getting older, he knew, and they wanted to be sure there would be no need to retract the announcement, but he still felt a little stung when he heard from them just how far along she was. Fifteen weeks they had kept this from him, and against his will, all the old insecurities from when he was first told of his adoption started bubbling up, back to the surface from the dark pit he’d shoved them into._

_He didn’t talk to his parents about them, this time. His father was running himself ragged with worry already, he didn’t need to add to any of it with his own issues. And his mother –he couldn’t tell her he was feeling jealous of a **baby**, not when they had already lost Kiku way back before they found him. Hanato could keep it contained, and if he couldn’t, then he always had Waka-ji to confide in._

_He started skipping school again and staying out late when his mother started to show._

_Isami tried to talk him around, but Hanato just couldn’t –he had all this restless energy, and if he was at home he’d have to see his parents like **that**, and while he was petty enough to admit it bothered him he wasn’t such a bastard that he’d subject his pregnant mother to his unreasonable feelings. So instead he wandered Namimori, and when that didn’t work he took the train to Toarushi where he’d be attending Rindou High if all went well, and where his peers were a bit rougher around the edges._

_He got into more fights, but he felt better. He didn’t see his parents as often, but with the crackdowns on their allies in Yurikawa his father was busier, and with the baby chugging along his mother was distracted. He didn’t need to be around anyway –it was pretty obvious to Hanato that with a legitimate heir on the way, he was no longer a viable candidate. The kid would slot in pretty well, considering; Hanato could go to college or whatever and fuck off, and his father would stay Kumich_ _ō for another fifteen, twenty years, just like his predecessor._

_Hanato came in late one night to find Kana-ba waiting for him, a troubled look on her face that didn’t clear when she noticed the bruises around his jaw and temple. He waited for her to collect her thoughts –she needed longer than Waka-ji, usually, some sort of cognitive thing –even though his leg was throbbing something fierce._

_“You’re past curfew,” She said cautiously, leading him to explain. Hanato grit his teeth._

_“I got knocked out, sorry,” he toed his shoes off and shoved them onto a shelf. “Couldn’t fucking wake up fast enough.”_

_“Don’t talk to me that way, Hana,” Kana-ba chided lightly, only half serious usually –it wasn’t like she didn’t cuss and shit talk with the best of them –but something about the phrasing made Hanato snap._

_“Get off my back about it!” He barked, and while he felt bad at her shocked expression, a larger part of him felt a vicious satisfaction. “So I ain’t back in time, so **what**? I am now!”_

_Kanata’s face darkened, and she stalked forward, grabbed Hanato by the temples and hoisted him up with only her arm strength –Hanato hissed and latched onto her wrists. “’So **what**’, you little fucker? We have a curfew for a goddamn reason –what if something had happened, huh?”_

_“Fucking let me go!” Hanato yelled, and Kana-ba obliged; Hanato tumbled to the floor ass first. _

_“You’re still a petty child, Hana.” She said severely, and then turned her back to him and marched off down the hall. Hanato scoffed and wiped at his re-split lip to get the blood, before he laboriously pushed himself back up. When he looked at the hall again, his stomach dropped out to see his mother standing there, very pale._

_“Hana, welcome home,” she offered. _

_Hanato would feel like a piece of shit for it later, but he didn’t respond, just shouldered his way past her and straight to his room. _

_His flames were out of sync with his family now, something that only happened when he was truly bothered by something, or sick as a dog. No one ever brought up the hallway incident after that, but it weighed heavily on him whenever he caught his mother hesitating before she spoke to him, or when he knew his father had heard **something** by the way he watched him closely afterward. They tried to broach the subject after that, tried to ask him what was the matter, but he always rebuffed their attempts. Even if he wanted to, his throat stuck together at the mere thought of baring his ugly, petty feelings to the two people he loved most in the world, who had taken him in and gave him a home and never let him forget it._

_He’d always known he was on borrowed time anyway. But fuck if he didn’t feel like a complete bastard when he was faced with time running out in front of his very eyes._

“Hey, Potter!”

Harry stopped dead, blood in his ears at the voice of his nemesis, he guessed. He didn’t really think much about Malfoy these days, and the other teenager hadn’t done much to keep his attention since the night on the train. And really, compared with the likes of Muroto Zenmei (who was he, where was this image of a bloodthirsty grin coming from?), there wasn’t much to think about if he stayed out of Harry’s way. Slowly, he turned to see Malfoy standing with his usual pack of Slytherin peers, grinning like he’d won the jackpot and got away with tax fraud all in one day.

“What,” Harry was tired, he had awoken from the shittiest nap he’d had yet, the worst dream yet even if he could only recall half of it, and he felt like one gigantic bruise. He thought for a second Malfoy might have realized that, because his expression faltered for a moment. Then he seemed to think, ‘fuck it’, and bleated on with whatever bullshit he had called out for in the first place.

“Heard you nearly lost the captaincy! Good showing!” Malfoy’s friends all laughed as if he had told some great joke, instead of reminding Harry that he literally had no reason not to deck Malfoy in the face right now. “Why don’t you keep going, save everyone the trouble of a shit first game?”

“Gimme a reason, toff,” Harry didn’t go for his wand –he didn’t need it. He walked over until he was a few paces away from the blonde, close enough to see the Slytherin’s face turn pink in outrage. Luckily everyone in Malfoy’s group were pretty high up the social food chain, so none of them drew their wands when he didn’t have his out first. _Underestimating_ him. “After everything that happened last year, you think I care about _Quidditch_? You’re daft, you piece of shit collabo.”

“What did you call me?” Malfoy sounded both confused and offended, and Harry grinned, all teeth.

“What, you don’t know what a collabo is? It means _collaborator_.” Harry tapped his own forearm and while Malfoy’s buddies all protested, he saw the boy himself pale significantly. “It means you’ve chosen a side, and that side is the one of oppression and death. It means you’ve rolled onto your back for _him_, you coward, and you’ve exposed yourself as second only to his active supporters.” Harry spat at Malfoy’s feet, feeling fired up, feeling dramatic and _alive_ as he finally told Malfoy what he really thought of him. The little group had gone silent, and he was drawing a few of their peers as people started to leave breakfast behind them. “What’s he really done for _you_, huh? Put your Dad in Azkaban, stained your family’s reputation, and made Slytherin the black sheep of the entire school? Sure sounds like someone to follow.”

“Y-You don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter!” Malfoy spat, and drew his wand. Harry laughed, although none of this was funny, really.

“You’ve got a rotten hole where your heart should be, Malfoy,” Whispers filled the hall around them, and Harry stalked forward, tired of _everything. _“You’ll sell your integrity, your country, your fellow wizards and your _children_ for an unfulfilled promise. Karkaroff was a hero compared to you –he had enough character to run from Voldemort’s call, knowing he’d be hunted down. Get outta my face and don’t talk to me unless you _want_ _out_.”

Malfoy flinched, and so Harry took the opportunity to grab his wand and break it in one swift motion over his knee, and then let the pieces clatter to the floor as his horrified peers looked on. He laughed again, feeling better than he had in _weeks, _and walked off –he didn’t even dignify any of it with a backwards glance. At least he wasn’t going to disappoint McGonagall _today._

Vvv

_Hanato heard the commotion from the street; whoever was yelling sure had a good set of lungs on them, and he sighed heavily at the idea that it might be Longchamp Naito come again to torment him; the other boy was the bane of his existence and he’d be glad to keep the feud between their families going if one day he could be rid of his incessant chatter._

_Entering the office to find two teens a few years younger than he was beating up the resident Momokyou-kai members gave him pause. _

_“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, catching the kids’ attention._

_“These fuckers kidnapped our Boss.” The grey haired one said, giving –was that Onogi? –a shake. The other one, with black hair and less obviously a delinquent had the decency to look a little sheepish at the carnage the two of them had apparently wrought._

_“Uh, we were told they took him here, but no one’s saying much.” He put on an apologetic face, but the hand clutching Ginta’s collar around his ears was white-knuckled._

_Hanato sighed again and stepped over to Kouta, who was the only one within reach beginning to stir. “Kou, did anyone pick up a middle schooler today? For any reason? I won’t tell Otousan, promise.” He shook the man’s shoulder a bit when he didn’t respond. “C’mon Kou.”_

_“Swear we didn’t.” He groaned. “Kumich_ _ō don’t like it.”_

_“There you have it. Sorry, but **your** Boss ain’t here.” Hanato looked around the room and huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a decidedly put-upon manner. “C’mon guys, they’re younger than **I** am.”_

_“And just who the hell **are** you?” The grouchy one demanded, and Hanato had to sigh._

_“I’m-”_

_The door slammed open, smacking Hanato in the face and abruptly cutting off his introduction, making him hit the wall and slump down to the ground with the suddenness of it all. He grabbed at his smarting nose, annoyed for a split second before whoever had barged in was addressed by the other two teenagers._

_“Tenth, you’re **safe**!” The grouchy grey haired one exclaimed, the calmer one tacking on, “You look alright.” This was accompanied by the thumps of the Momokyou-kai members being dropped to the floor. The sheer relief in the kids’ voices made him reconsider kicking their asses, and he managed to slip out of the room unnoticed just in time to meet the reinforcements down the hall._

_“Bocchan, we got a call from Ginta just now, said there was trouble?” Satsuhi greeted, looking over Hanato’s shoulder to the only door that lay down the hallway. “You see anything?”_

_“A misunderstanding. I got it sorted already.” Hanato explained, steering the group back down the way they came. “Just wait a minute and then get some first aid in there, kay?” Satsuhi seemed a little unsure, so Hanato added, “I’ll explain it all to Otousan.”_

_Everyone immediately murmured an agreement and wandered a little ways away, and Hanato thought it would be best to go and make sure the trio of outsiders had gotten out of the building before he headed home. He walked out the front door to see the two kids and a third he presumed was the one who had burst in on them talking to someone in a sports car just before it drove off. Hanato had a passing thought of what tea there should be at home when the grey haired kid spotted him over the shoulder of his friends and bristled like a cat confronted by a dog._

_“Tenth, that’s him right there!” He hissed, pointing straight at Hanato. **‘Ten generations? Those’re some expectations to fill...’ **Was all Hanato had the chance to think before the third boy turned around and his brain short circuited._

_“**Nayoshi**?!” He blurted out, and the now middle school aged kid he’d nicknamed years ago gaped at him like a fish._

“**_Hana-aniki_**_?_”

_“Aniki?!” The other two echoed._

_“Holy shit, I haven’t seen you in forever!” Hell, he should’ve recognized him straight off the bat with that gravity-defying hair he still sported even now, into his teens. Hanato decided to ignore the fact that Nayoshi flinched a little at something he’d said, trying to look friendly as he approached the younger boy. “Don’t you live in the west end? What’re you doing out here?”_

_“Hey, show the Tenth a little respect, bast –Urmph!” The grouchy one’s focus on raising his hackles was cut off by Nayoshi clapping a hand over his mouth and hissing a scolding._

_“**Gokudera-kun**! Hana-aniki isn’t some random guy! Think a little!” Both his friends –as well as Nayoshi himself –looked astonished at what he’d just said, and Hanato couldn’t keep the grin off his face._

_“Look at that, time sure can change someone.” Nayoshi’s ears turned red and Hanato laughed. “Introduce me, yeah? Then you should let me treat you to ramen –we can catch up?”_

_The other two looked wary, but Nayoshi lit up like a Christmas tree; Hanato felt a fleeting nostalgia at the look. With how little change in appearance Nayoshi had undergone in the years since they’d seen each other last, it was a bit hard to separate those rose-coloured memories from what was right in front of him. “Really? I’d like that! Guys, this is Momoda Hanato, he stayed with me and Kaa-san for a while when I was a kid, and we got along really well. Hana-aniki, there are my friends, Yamamoto Takeshi and Gokudera Hayato.”_

_“Good to meet some of Nayoshi’s friends. I think my Uncle knows your father, Yamamoto-kun.” Hanato turned back to his ‘little brother’. “Ah, I didn’t ask if you were busy, Nayoshi. Maybe we should put off reminiscing?”_

_“Oh, we’re supposed to be in school right now...” Nayoshi trailed off, and as he glanced around he just seemed to realize what time it was and how far away they were from his neighbourhood. “If we go back now, Hibari-san won’t be too happy... but if we miss the day he’ll kill us tomorrow...” Gokudera scoffed at whoever ‘Hibari’ was while Nayoshi fretted. “Gosh, aniki, I feel like there’s no good answer here. I really do wanna talk with you –wait, uhm, why’re you here, in a uniform, too?”_

_“Eh, skipping.” Hanato snickered at Nayoshi’s scandalized look. “It’s no big deal.”_

_“Tsuna, you go with your brother.” Yamamoto suddenly said –Nayoshi’s ears blazed red again at the word he used, while Gokudera’s face turned red along with his expression of protest –and the middle schooler turned an eerily piercing look in Hanato’s direction. “You obviously want to, so do it. We’ll take the heat from Hibari, tell him you ate something bad last night and threw up on the way to school or whatever. How long since you two’ve seen each other?”_

_“...seven years?” Nayoshi guessed, looking to Hanato for help. He shrugged a little, but said that it was close enough._

_“Then just go! If you trust Momoda-san, we won’t worry.” Yamamoto grinned brightly and Nayoshi relaxed out of the corner of Hanato’s vision, a grateful smile hesitantly showing that made Gokudera deflate before he could say anything against this plan; Hanato was sure he wasn’t happy with this though, protective as he appeared to feel towards Nayoshi._

_“If it’s what the Tenth wants to do...” Gokudera grumbled._

_“O-Okay! I will, then! Thanks, guys.” Nayoshi exclaimed before abruptly wilting a little. “Uh, Gokudera-kun, could you explain to...”_

_Gokudera perked up like a shot at the request. “Of course, Tenth!” He bowed once before marching back off towards the west end, Yamamoto trailing along amusedin his wake and leaving Hanato and Nayoshi alone in the street for the first time in near to eight years._

_“C’mon, **Otouto**. I know a good place that won’t care about the uniforms.” Hanato said a little teasingly, liking the bashful smile that crept across the younger boy’s face. With that they too were on their way, Hanato leading Nayoshi through the unfamiliar neighbourhood at a casual pace. “Alright, time to spill. What’ve you been up to all this time? I feel like only yesterday you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”_

_“You weren’t **that** much taller than me back then!” Nayoshi replied, still smiling shyly. “I dunno, I’ve just been doing normal things? How should I even start?”_

_“Well, what middle school did you get into? Tell me about that before we get there.” Hanato knew they only had a few more minutes to walk, so it was a good warm up. “Here, I’ll start. I went to Matsuoka Nigishi Mid way on the far east edge of Namimori, and next month I’ll be starting at Rindou High. I’m not looking forward to keeping the white uniform clean.”_

_“Rindou, but that’s over in Toarushi.” Nayoshi frowned. “Are you going to move?”_

_“Nah, the commute’s not so bad.”_

_“Oh, huh. Well, I’ll be going into second year at Namimori Middle –if I pass, at least.” He laughed nervously._

_“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Hanato clapped the younger boy on the back and slowed to a stop. “Here’s us.”_

_Hanato let Nayoshi take in the building while he inspected his ‘little brother’ surreptitiously. The ramen place was a little hole in the wall off the side of a bathhouse, one that was run by one of the Momokyou-kai’s former members who still helped them out every so often. Nayoshi looked sceptical but not unwilling to go in, and the longer Hanato looked at him the more little things jumped out. He had a slight scar above his left eyebrow, he was slumped forward slightly like he was making himself smaller, the edges of his book bag looked singed. Slight differences from the clumsy but cheerful kid that Hanato had stayed with for those few weeks, and he couldn’t tell yet if those differences were good or bad._

_“A Kombu ramen set and an Iced Tea, please, Furugashou-san.” Hanato requested once they were seated, the only two people in the small restaurant at the moment; Nayoshi dithered over the menu for a moment before he asked for a Miso ramen with egg and a black tea._

_“Do you like Nami Mid?” Hanato asked. It was one of the few schools with a reputation around here –he’d heard tell of some sort of ‘demon’ that stalked the grounds at all hours and lately that there was some sort of streaker._

_“It’s... alright.” Nayoshi said tentatively, like he didn’t want to say anything one way or the other. “I guess it’s nice now that I’ve got friends.”_

_“How’d’you guys meet? I bet there’s a story with Gokudera at least.” Hanato grinned in triumph at the uncomfortable noise Nayoshi made, and jabbed him playfully in the side. “C’mon, you gotta tell me! I should get to tease your friends about **somethin’** when I see them next.”_

_“Ha ha, well, uhm, Gokudera-kun kind of... tried to...” Nayoshi hesitated for so long that Hanato was sure he was going to tap out of the story. “Beat me up? Uh, but it worked out!” He waved his hands around in a placating manner as he registered how the situation must sound to Hanato out of context. “He was set up, he –thought I was someone else! And then he almost got hurt and instead of leaving I saved him, so he, uh –well, you saw how he is.”_

_“Like a puppy.” Nayoshi let out a surprised snort at the description. “That’s not so strange, Nayoshi, lots of people make friends through fighting.”_

_“You only say that ‘cause you fight all the time.” Nayoshi said, and at Hanato’s brief stunned look he nervously explained. “Uhm, your knuckles are all beat up, you’ve got a chipped front tooth, and the scar on your face...”_

_Hanato frowned and touched it a little self-consciously; he had gotten it last year, and while Waka-ji said it made him look older he’d found that it put off strangers more so, so half the time he’d be walking down the street and someone walking towards him would scurry to the other sidewalk. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He said eventually._

_When their ramen came by a minute later, they paused the conversation to eat, and Hanato’s thoughts turned to the first time he’d ever met Nayoshi._

_The younger boy had been five or six years old and hid behind his mother’s leg while Hanato’s father spoke to Nana-obasan about something or other, and when Nana had tried to introduce him to Sakurai he had fled back upstairs in some sort of nervous fit. Hanato hadn’t seen him again until dinner, where he had recovered admirably and worked up the nerve to ask Hanato if he would want to play some game, or draw, or read, or whatever it had been. Hanato had been newly eight years old and not yet at the phase where he thought younger kids were all babies, so he had agreed and followed Tsunayoshi around for the rest of the afternoon._

_Hanato had stayed with the Sawadas for nearly a month because of a flare up in the feud between the Momokyou-kai and the Tomaso-gumi, and in that time he’d grown very fond of the younger boy; one day Tsunayoshi had come back from school and cried about a few other kids making fun of his mother’s ‘Tuna-fish’ nickname for him, and Hanato had immediately christened him ‘Nayoshi’, trying to make him feel better. It seemed nowadays the nickname hadn’t stuck in any other person’s head –Yamamoto had used ‘Tsuna’ and when Hanato called him Nayoshi it took him a second to respond –but it was a cute little memory, kids being kids. And back then Hanato had told Nayoshi to call him ‘Hana-aniki’ in return, because he’d just caught on to the fact that Kana-ba was called ‘-aneki’ by the lower members of the gang, and Kana-ba was even **cooler** than Waka-ji._

_Hanato’s mother had thought it adorable that Nayoshi had taken to following him around like a duckling, and for about a year after that she and Nana had made sure they kept up as friends. But schedules changed, Hanato’s home-schooling ramped up for his transfer into elementary school, Nayoshi entered daycare for a time; all in all, they just got busy. As a lot of childhood friendships went, they gradually stopped seeing each other until suddenly months and months had passed –and in all honesty, Hanato had nearly forgotten about Nayoshi completely, and he was sure the same was true for the other boy._

_“I’m –sorry for mentioning it.” Nayoshi said suddenly; while Hanato had been zoning out thinking about the past, Nayoshi had stopped eating and was staring at his broth like he was ready to cry. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward or –or offend you.”_

_“Jeez, Nayoshi, you didn’t do any of that.” Nayoshi didn’t look convinced, nervously fiddling with his shirt cuffs. Was this because of how he’d taken so long to reply about his scar? Nayoshi had shown some spine earlier, but now that he thought about it –he’d **flinched** at him earlier, and vacillated between shy and nervous on a dime, and regardless of how nice he’d put it, had pinned Hanato down as a thug-type within a half hour of seeing him again._

_A few more memories of Nayoshi coming back crying or subdued suddenly popped back into his head like he’d never forgotten them, and it was a little jarring to realize that **this** Nayoshi could still be so similar to that kid he’d known years ago._

_“Hey, I’m not offended.” Hanato told him seriously, turning their stools so they were sort of facing each other. “I’m **not**. And you didn’t make it awkward, and it’s okay you mentioned it. Yeah I’m a little sensitive about it, but that’s on me and you didn’t know, okay?” Nayoshi nodded, still looking a little miserable or apprehensive, and both were emotions Hanato was keen to avoid in this situation. “Don’t fret so much, you’ll make yourself sick if you keep that up. I’m not gonna...” A horrible thought came into his head. “...suddenly get mad at you, or belittle you, or like, change the rules without telling you. I’m not a bully, Nayoshi.”_

_“Of course you’re not!” He blurted out, aghast, but his fingers also stopped unravelling the tear on his cuffs. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid, I didn’t really think... I know you wouldn’t...”_

_Hanato let Nayoshi mumble, more worried than he could remember being in some time; this was so far from what he would have expected would happen they might as well be in a foreign country. He’d invited the kid out on what was pretty much a whim, thought he might shell out a couple thousand Yen for lunch and weasel out of Nayoshi why his friends were beating up Momokyou-kai members, and then they’d part ways having briefly caught up. It was becoming quite clear to him that the reason Yamamoto and Gokudera had acted –well, like **that** –was because they knew that Nayoshi was, for lack of a better term, delicate._

_Or at least, he needed to be handled with a certain level of consideration. Hanato had reacted slightly less than amicably at the mention of his scar, was silent for barely five minutes in what **could** have been construed as ‘not approval’, and he’d sent Nayoshi into this depressive slump. And when he’d tried to reassure him, Nayoshi had taken that to mean that it was his **fault** for Hanato behaving that way, instead of the slight, benign misunderstanding it **barely** was._

** _‘How should I handle this...’_ ** _ Hanato stewed, and paid Furugashou since Nayoshi had drawn in on himself a bit in a pensive mood**. ‘Ah, that might do something.’** “C’mon, up you get.”_

_“H-Hana-aniki?” Nayoshi asked in confusion. “Wheeeeere are we going???”_

_“The gym a block over.” _

_That didn’t appear to ease Nayoshi’s nerves. **‘Tough shit,’** Hanato thought, practically frog-marching his companion through the streets to the vacated second-floor gym. **‘You’re in my wheelhouse, now.’** As expected, the only one in the place was Dao, the young secretary, who waved Hanato in with a shrug and then returned to his novel. Hanato found what he wanted in the supply closet –a few sets of extra Gi that were worn down from use but clean enough to wear, one set of which he passed Nayoshi while the other he grabbed for himself. _

_“Change, and meet me back here.” Hanato waited until Nayoshi nodded hesitantly, and then left him to the Men’s change room while he took the Women’s –he didn’t think that sticking around would be trust building. To his credit, Nayoshi didn’t dally –not to his credit, he wasn’t asking Hanato to explain himself or tell him what was going on in any fashion, and that wasn’t only foolish, it was potentially dangerous. **‘Although, if some shithead was looking to mug him they wouldn’t be truthful about it if Nayoshi asked, anyway.’**_

_“Sit.” Hanato said, and Nayoshi complied._

_Hanato slumped down opposite Nayoshi, then straightened so his posture was perfect and raised an eyebrow at his companion encouragingly; Nayoshi took the hint and made his own posture better, though it was obvious he didn’t really know what he was doing. _

_“You and I are gonna work out.” Hanato told him plainly, ignoring Nayoshi’s gaping fish expression. “And on Thursday I wanna see you back here so we can do it again. You get me?”_

_“No???” Nayoshi squeaked, and that made Hanato bark out a luagh._

_“You’re scared, it’s like, written in your posture and everything,” Nayoshi didn’t try to refute that, so Hanato went on. “So, what better way to give you a bit of confidence than build up your muscles and flexibility? I could even show you how to throw a proper punch or break someone’s hold on you.”_

_“But, I’m too weak. I can’t do a single pull up in gym class,” Nayoshi mumbled quietly. “There’s a reason everyone calls me ‘No-Good’, y’know. I can’t even hit a baseball.”_

_“...Nayoshi,” Hanato scooted closer, and poked the younger boy in the shoulder, which made him look him in the eyes. “If you **try**, someday you’ll be able to do that pull up, or push up, or maybe even hit a baseball far enough to_ _get a run. If you’re no good at physical stuff, it’s only because no one’s showed you how to **be** good at it. C’mon, trust your big bro a little, huh?” Hanato grinned encouragingly at Nayoshi and internally cheered when he brightened up a little. “Let’s start, alright?”_

_Hanato took Nayoshi through a lessened version of his own workout, and instead of doing the exercises along with him he mainly concerned himself with showing Nayoshi how to properly move and breath. They stretched for a good forty minutes first, mostly because of all the adjusting Hanato had to make to Nayoshi’s postures, and then they went to the treadmills for five minutes just to warm up, Hanato making sure that the younger teen didn’t try and push himself too hard out of ignorance._

_Then Hanato moved them to the machine circuit, which is where he himself had started –Waka-ji always said that moving on to free weights should wait until your muscles were at a certain level and you had learnt how to move properly along with them. For this first workout Hanato gave Nayoshi low weights and one set of ten repetitions for each exercise, so he could build on that next time and Nayoshi wouldn’t feel like he was dying in the days before he returned. They went from abdominals to back muscles, then legs to shoulders, to chest and to arms, and finally wrists and grip, which were the only non-machine exercises Hanato prescribed besides the sit ups for the abdominals at first._

_By the time they returned to the standing bikes for another five minutes of cool down cardio, Nayoshi was looking drained and Hanato hadn’t even broke a sweat; but regardless, Hanato kept up his encouragement all through it and watched that Nayoshi was taking it easy, so that during the stretching at the end of it all he actually didn’t seem so bad off. _

_“Actually, your legs are better than average,” Hanato commented as he adjusted Nayoshi’s posture again for the back stretch. “Do you do a lot of running around at school? Maybe to avoid certain people?”_

_“Ah –ow! You’re right, I do...” Nayoshi said sheepishly. “I’m not no-good at being a gopher at least.”_

_“See, that’s good! Well, not the gopher part, that’s shitty, but, like, you’d probably be okay at endurance stuff like marathons even if you can’t do fast-paced sports.” Hanato twisted his shoulder until it cracked and sighed in relief. “You’ll get to that one pull-up, just wait.”_

_They changed in separate areas again, and Hanato wasn’t in a rush, so he decided to walk Nayoshi back to his side of town before he made his way home. The workout had tuckered Nayoshi out, no doubt, but he seemed looser, more relaxed as they chatted and walked, not nearly as flinchy as he’d been a few hours before._

_“Hana-aniki... thanks,” Nayoshi offered tremulously once they had reached about where Hanato had in mind to split up. “Um, it was nice, to see you again and get to talk a bit. I feel a lot better.”_

_“Good,” Hanato said, and then, impulsively, he hugged Nayoshi briefly; Nayoshi was stiff and squeaked in surprise, but Hanato pulled back just as quickly. “Remember, I want to do this again. Does Thursday after your classes work? Here, take my number and let me know once you find out...”_

_So Nayoshi started going to the gym with Hanato three times a week once his mysterious tutor gave the go-ahead, and even though it had only been a short time, Hanato could clearly see that it was doing him good. Once he got the hang of the machines, Hanato could even leave him without supervision for a few sets; all those people who badgered Nayoshi about being ‘no-good’ could go to hell, because the kid was doing just fine!_

_It was really only his balance that wasn’t improving –and once Hanato switched him over to free weights, that wasn’t going to be an issue for long. Hanato may have spent more time than he really needed to researching beginner’s weight training for his ‘little bro’, but what could he say? There was something about helping Nayoshi out with something like this that just grabbed his entire brain and wouldn’t let go. _

_That said, it wasn’t all chill introductory classes for the two of them –as soon as Nayoshi’s tagalongs caught wind of what he was doing around two_ _weeks into the set-up, the pair both asked incessantly to be able to join in. Hanato would’ve flat out refused, since he was both selfish and knew that besides it, adding more people wasn’t always constructive, but it had been **Nayoshi** to make the request of him, sincerely on his friends’ behalf. He couldn’t force himself to be an asshole in the face of that. And anyway, supportive work-out mates was probably what Nayoshi needed in the long run anyway._

_The two other middle-schoolers were more preoccupied with their own training to really get in the way, and took Hanato’s brief suggestions with surprising grace. Hanato had only needed to remind Gokudera **once** to not bring his dynamite in, and the kid had snapped him an actual **salute** before immediately switching to using dummy-dynamites to hit targets. Yamamoto occasionally brought sushi along, additionally, which –hey, Hanato wasn’t an **ungrateful** bastard._

_Yet, something about the three of them nagged at the back of Hanato’s head every time they saw each other, and for the life of him he just couldn’t figure out **what it was**. It got so annoying one day that he finally just threw the towel in and invited the kids over to his home for a meal –if he couldn’t pinpoint this, he could at least quiz the trio about what they were actually involved in and get **some** questions answered._

_-God help him if it was the Tomaso-gumi, though._

_They had a few good hours of sunlight left –nevertheless, while Hanato and Nayoshi walked side by side, Gokudera and Yamamoto kept hovering off to the edge and a little behind, as if they were playing bodyguards. He debated bringing up Gokudera’s insistence in calling Nayoshi ‘Tenth’ then and there, but ultimately decided that privacy would be better and it would be fine to just chat lightly for now._

_“Here’s us,” Hanato slowed to a stop in front of his home’s public entrance and heard Nayoshi let out a distressed sounding squeak, but by then he had already prodded the trio past the gate and they just kept following him further in. Hanato waved to a few of the older Shateigashira who were smoking off the side deck, and brought his little brother and friends through the front door and down the hall to one of the lesser used sitting rooms._

_“Make yourselves comfortable, yeah? I’m’a grab some tea.” Hanato left them to it, and closed the door so he could flip the ‘in use’ sign around._

_“Hey, Waka-ji,” Hanato greeted his uncle as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline to the kettle on the stove. “S’Otousan home?”_

_“He’s in a meeting. And who did **you** bring in just now?” Wakatoshi raised an eyebrow and smiled sedately. “Not more of your ‘friends’, I hope?”_

_“You know Isami’s the only friend I got, those jokers just needed me to spell it out for ‘em.” Hanato scoffed; he had seen one of them just the other day, and the shitbird had scuttled off the second their eyes met over the street. “You remember Nayoshi, right? It’s him an’ his friends.”_

_Wakatoshi coughed harshly, and bent over a little –he must have swallowed his tea down too fast. “Oh, the kid you... stayed with when you were a tyke?” Wakatoshi discretely wiped at his face with a towel. “I wasn’t aware you still kept up with him.”_

_“Ah, I didn’t, but we’ve been going to the gym together since... few weeks back? Kid needs a shot of support and confidence if I’ve seen anyone.” Hanato fished the tea bags out of the cupboard, and set about making a tray up while the kettle finished boiling. “Don’t mention it to Otousan?”_

_Waka-ji sighed, and Hanato could guess what he was thinking before he voiced it. “You should talk to your father, kid.” Wakatoshi pat him on the shoulder, and despite himself Hanato felt a lump form in his throat before he swallowed it down and scowled to try and make up for it. “I don’t like that you’re letting this fester. He’ll tell you exactly what I have.”_

_“Thanks,” Hanato turned away and shrugged off his uncle’s hand. “I’ll keep it in mind. Just don’t tell, **please**?”_

_“Hana, you know I won’t.” Wakatoshi said seriously, and Hanato didn’t respond because he knew if he did then he’d end up cracking and doing exactly what his uncle was telling him to do, and he couldn’t do that to them. Not so late, not after how he’d acted this whole time. He really was a bastard._

_By the time Hanato returned to the sitting room, more than a few minutes had passed and Nayoshi was in a tizzy while his two guard dogs weren’t far behind him. It was kind of cute. Hanato set the tray down on the table and **maybe **let a little bit of his Rain flames seep into the air, just enough to get the younger teens to chill for a second._

_“We might as well get the elephant in the room dealt with.” Hanato sat down opposite his little bro and calmly started pouring tea. “Nayoshi, why did I walk in on these two beating up a room full of Momokyou-kai members a few weeks ago, and why does Gokudera-kun **insist **on calling you ‘Tenth’?” Hanato tried to project an air of neutrality, but to be honest, he’d never been very good at that sort of thing. “You can speak freely here.”_

_“Where exactly is **here**? This... isn’t a normal house.” Nayoshi didn’t meet his eyes, but looked around the room warily. “This, it’s almost...”_

_“Oh. Oh, **you don’t know.**” Hanato was surprised, to say the least. This had always followed him around, for Nayoshi to have never heard was unusual. “Sorry, Nayoshi, I didn’t even –uh. I’m Momoda Hanato, son of the third Momokyou-kai kumich_ _ō.”_

_Seconds ticked by, and then Nayoshi buried his face in his hands. “Why is everyone I meet involved in **organized crime!?**”_

_“Oh, so he’s playing the same game as that baby?” Yamamoto asked and glanced between Hanato and Nayoshi like he’d solved some big puzzle, even as alarm bells went off in Hanato’s head at the mention of a ‘baby’. Gokudera slapped a hand over his forehead and made a long-suffering noise._

_“Fucking baseball idiot...”_

_“Er, Nayo –I mean, Tsunayoshi, if you want to leave...”_

_Nayoshi’s head snapped up to stare at him, and Hanato could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of orange in his eyes for a split second. But then Nayoshi sighed like he was about to cry and shook his head._

_“No, I’m okay, aniki. I just... not a lot of people are supposed to know.” He shared a glance with his two friends, and looked a bit more confident when he turned back to Hanato. “Well, it’s not like I’ve gotten much choice about who’s been told up to now.”_

_“The, um, reason Gokudera-kun calls me ‘Tenth’ is...” Nayoshi took a deep breath. “I’m the last available candidate to be the Vongola Decimo. I’m being trained by a mafia tutor and he lied to Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun about the Momokyou-kai kidnapping me in order to test them.” Nayoshi took a sip of his tea, and his fingers were shaking a little. “I’m sorry for the trouble we caused. I’m sure we could get any medical bills covered if I spoke to Reborn about it.”_

_“I’ll –mention it to Otousan,” Hanato whistled. “Wow, that actually explains so much shit.” Hanato had been expecting... well, **anything** besides what Nayoshi had just revealed, but it did fill in a few gaps. “Jeez, Nayoshi, you never wanted it, did you?”_

_“I didn’t even know it existed,” he admitted._

_“Wow, you guys sure are taking this game seriously.” Yamamoto said, his smile a little strained around the edges at the sombre mood that had taken over the room._

_“’Game’?” Hanato repeated, face flushing._

_“Ignore him, he’s taken too many baseballs to the head,” Gokudera said, which made Yamamoto snort._

_“No, please enlighten me on why one of my little bro’s baby Guardians-” Gokudera sputtered and turned as red as a beet. “-thinks this is some kind of **joke**. I’m all ears.”_

_“Wait a sec-”_

_“Aniki, wait, it’s my fault!” Nayoshi interrupted, hands flicking about nervously as he took in Hanato’s thunderous expression. “It –It’s only been a few weeks since Reborn started recruiting him, and I didn’t want it to happen in the first place, I didn’t **want** him to know-” Nayoshi looked close to tears, so Hanato tried to reign in his anger. “-I’ve been putting off explaining. It’s my fault, not Yamamoto-kun’s!”_

_Hanato glanced at the boy in question, and couldn’t help but sigh internally. That wasn’t just Sky Attraction on the kid’s face, it was **way** past that; a serious case of actual, tangible Courting going on before his very eyes. Carried out by two clueless Latents, with the third one in the group not far off either, although at least Gokudera had the sense to be proper about it._

_“Alright, Nayo-chi, I believe you,” the kid **sagged** in relief. “But in that case, I’m going to have to straighten him out.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Yamamoto Takeshi, you listen to me right the fuck now and take me seriously, or so **help** me,” he waited until the kid nodded before he went on. “Nayoshi and I are not playin’ games here. The Momokyou-kai is a very real Yakuza group based in Namimori, and while I may not be the heir I am still the son of its’ Oyabun. All my life I’ve seen violence, conflict, and death, and that is not somethin’ I will allow you to make light of.” Yamamoto nodded again, his face red and sombre as he gained an inkling of what he’d been involved with lately. Because Hanato was sure this wouldn’t completely break through whatever misconception he had, he didn’t let up on him and steeled himself for similar conversations in the future. “Nayoshi’s situation is even less funny. He was thrown into this role with no choice, no preparation. Unless another heir appears before his majority, he will have no other role in life.”_

_“You,” Hanato stopped briefly to think about how best to put this. “Are being recruited by Reborn, who I can assure you is not a baby in any sense except physical. Regardless of Nayoshi’s input, it was determined you, and Gokudera, would be a good fit for his most trusted positions. Do not forget that, ‘cause if you do, I’ll break your neck myself.”_

Harry awoke in a trance from his bed, no idea where the day had gone. There was nothing in his brain but the name ‘Nayoshi’, and he levered himself up so he could leave the dorm room. Fortunately in his sleep walking he made such a racket that he woke up Neville and Dean, and the two of them made sure he didn’t go anywhere, just in case he hurt himself. Harry came back to awareness after a few minutes, the name leaving his memory like water through a sieve, and let his friends lead him back to bed even through his confusion.

He was asleep again within minutes, and wouldn’t remember the episode when they brought it up over breakfast the following day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise chapter earlier than I expected! Please bear with me through the emotion and confusing perspective switching!
> 
> Content warning; parent striking a child, depressing and suicidal thoughts, character death and graphic descriptions of violence.

_“Oh –Oh, Hanato-kun, I’m so sorry!”_

_Hanato steadied Nana-obasan and deftly caught her purse before it could hit the ground, then handed it back to her promptly. He had only seen her in passing when he dropped Nayoshi off after the gym once in a while, but she looked off right now, like something was bothering her. He cracked his back and suppressed a wince –he hoped whatever it was didn’t take too long for him to suss out, he ached all over and wanted to get home and **sleep.** _

_“Are you okay, Obasan?” Her brow pinched slightly and her hands shook where they gripped her bag, and Nana visibly hesitated before she gave a sigh. Hanato straightened when she met his eyes, and belatedly he hoped she didn’t notice the blood on his collar or the ripped sleeve, or the stubble forming on his jaw from staying out all night._

_“Well, it’s only that Tsu-kun is in the hospital.” Nana frowned further, and the expression looked out of place. “It was those –people going after Namimori Mid students. The police have them now, but Tsu-kun and a few of his friends...”_

_“**What**?!” Hanato blurted, flabbergasted. Why hadn’t he heard about any of this??? “Obasan, please let me accompany you! When’d this happen?”_

_“That’s kind, Hanato-kun, but don’t feel obligated,” Nana said, but she didn’t protest further when he fell into step beside her. “It was yesterday. Tsu-kun and Reborn-kun went out in the mid morning and by supper time I got the call from the hospital.”_

_Hanato had already been in Toarushi by mid morning, and had ended up sleeping off a fight in the Kyoya offices –weighed down by a few beers. He didn’t know who these attackers were, but with Nayoshi’s position Hanato doubted he was simply the latest random victim of some lone wolves. _

_He hadn’t met Reborn yet, but the more he heard of the tutor the less he liked him, although he was doing a good job with Nayoshi’s **training**, at least. He’d probably pushed the kid to seek the attackers out to prove himself or something, and by the sounds of it Nayoshi’s baby Guardians had gotten involved too. Hanato hadn’t exactly spelled it out for his little bro, but he felt a bit ticked off that Nayoshi hadn’t called him to ask for support. Maybe Reborn hadn’t expected they’d need it._

_“Did you see him last night? How was he?” He was just going to have to ask Nayoshi about it, he supposed._

_“He was a little loopy on painkillers, but the Doctors said he’ll be fine in a few weeks!” Nana perked up at the reminder, and Hanato felt better about the whole situation._

_When they reached the hospital, Nana didn’t have to ask what room Nayoshi was in –she just signed them in, picked up a couple of visitors’ badges and tugged Hanato along in her wake. The room she led him to was discretely guarded, just a man sitting at either end of the hall and a restless Arcobaleno behind the door._

_Nayoshi visibly brightened when his mother entered the room, but upon laying eyes on Hanato behind her his face twisted into something more complicated. It made the hairs on the back of Hanato’s neck stand on end, and he chose to hang back while Nana doted on Nayoshi and an extremely drowsy Gokudera._

_Hanato felt Reborn watching him and couldn’t help but think he had missed something._

_Gokudera fell asleep a few minutes later, and Nana used her extra attention to pull Hanato into the conversation._

_“And then I rain straight into Hana-kun! He insisted on coming with me.” She chattered and sliced apples as she went, seemingly oblivious to the rising tension around her. “You were off school today?”_

_“Uh, not in so many words,” Hanato mumbled, unable to relax out of the ramrod straight posture he had forced himself into as Nayoshi’s gaze continued to avoid his. “Look, I feel like I’m intruding, why don’t I buy you a coffee and I can come back la-”_

_“Absolutely not, you stay right there,” Nana declared, and Hanato didn’t dare shift. “I feel like **I’m **the one in the way here, you two obviously need to talk.” She stood up as she said this, and her skirt made a little dramatic swish as she turned towards the door. “But thank you, Hana-kun, for the offer. I’ll grab my own coffee I think, and leave you all for a little while.”_

_Nana gave a silly, cheerful wave and shut the door behind her, leaving a crushing silence in her wake. The first one to break it was Hanato._

_“Kami, Nayoshi, what **happened**?” he asked, finally letting out his utter confusion at both where they were and the odd slant to how his little brother was acting. “I just saw you the other day, why didn’t you tell me about the attacks?”_

_“No one knew how bad it was until the day before yesterday,” Reborn supplied._

_Hanato felt caged in and cornered, and he growled and snapped at the Arcobaleno despite the fact it was a **horrible **idea, “I didn’t ask you, shit tutor.”_

_“Stop it,” Nayoshi said; he sounded dead tired and it brought Hanato’s train of thought to a stand still. “Hanato, why are you here?”_

_“Why? I –I was **worried**!” The absence of the usual ‘aniki’ to the end of his name unnerved him more than he cared to admit. “I **am** worried. You look like you were put through a meat grinder! Last I saw you all you could talk about was your first term exams and now I suddenly find out you’re all in the hospital-”_

_Nayoshi’s eerie stare from earlier returned, and Hanato realized what the younger teen was feeling all at once._

_“I called you,” Nayoshi finally said, Reborn nowhere to be seen. “I didn’t want to go. Everybody got hurt so much even before –and I called you, I called you ‘cause you said I should if I needed anything. I thought you could **help** me.”_

_Hurt; confusion; tiredness; anger; disappointment._

_“You never answered.”_

_Distrust._

_“No. No, I-” Hanato couldn’t get the words out, stuck on Nayoshi’s face, on his **eyes**, on the orange that was burning a hole through him. “I didn’t –I **wouldn’t**-”_

** _//”Momoda! Your phone’s been ringin’!” Shochi yelled, waving the device in the air while Hanato beat the shit out of another Shikabane dickhead._ **

** _“Fuck d’you need _ ** _me** for?” Hanato yelled back, some part of him under the impression that Shochi would answer it. It was only later he noticed it was gone, and by then he was too sloshed to really remember that anyone had called at all.//**_

_“Oh god,” Hanato breathed._

_“Please leave,” Nayoshi closed his eyes tightly, and Hanato bolted._

Harry gasped in air, and around him was a riot of colour and sound and sharp autumn wind. He was on a hard, wet surface and his shoulder throbbed, but whether it was broken or dislocated he couldn’t tell. Without his glasses his vision was blurry, but he thought for a brief moment that Madam Hooch was approaching by the shock of grey hair above the mass of dark robes getting closer to him. Before he could confirm that though, a shock of pain shot through his temple and he fell back into darkness like he was being pulled down into dark, cold water.

_‘You never answered, you never answered, you never answered-’_

_Hanato barely made it home with Nayoshi’s damning words swimming in his head, the accusation implicit in every word he spoke. He was getting dragged down, he was drowning in guilt, in disgust at himself –if he had answered, would Nayoshi not be in that hospital bed right now? Would Gokudera be boasting of victory instead of falling into a drugged slumber? If he had answered, would he really have been able to help or would he just have made things worse, brought bad luck to the venture? He would’ve been a liability, he would’ve been a –a bur-_

_“B-Bocchan!”_

_Hanato looked up from the sightless stare he’d fallen into –Tatsu was standing halfway down the hallway, a door to one of the big meeting rooms open next to him. His father’s Storm Lieutenant looked terrible, like he hadn’t shaved in days nor changed shirts, and he stared at Hanato like he was seeing a ghost._

_There was a clamour and the doorway slid open further to reveal Kawata and Ushimaru, tense and frantic as they spurred into action –Kawata dashed further into the house while Ushimaru called into the room that it really was Hanato there at the front door._

_Hanato was confused by the din that his arrival had caused, but he wasn’t given long to ponder the strange situation. His father’s only Advisor, his Cloud, Kurita, stepped around Ushimaru and Tendou and approached him. A little roughly, Kurita took him by the shoulder and led him over to the room, Tatsu stuck close behind them with his flames ready to defend._

_“Hanato-kun, please sit down,” he said, voice strained in a way Hanato had never heard before. He numbly let himself get prodded towards his usual seat, but it took someone literally pushing on his shoulders to get him to sink to the floor._

_“What’s –going on?” he asked, eyes flicking from face to face. No one seemed able to meet his gaze and a few of the other long time group members covered their eyes or looked away entirely._

_“Hanato-kun, you’ve been missing since the office was attacked,” Kurita explained, as if that would tell Hanato anything about why everyone was acting so strangely._

_“’Attacked’?” Hanato’s stomach churned –why was it that everything he needed to hear about happened on the day his phone got left behind? “What, was it a police raid or something? Who was arrested?”_

_The room remained eerily silent, even some of the younger members gone pale and still now. It was Jirou –who was normally always out on business –who broke the quiet with a heavy sigh._

_“Hana-kun, no one was arrested. There was no police raid.” Hanato stared, but his already shaken mind from Nayoshi’s damning words couldn’t make sense of what wasn’t being said. “It’s Wakatoshi.” Hanato felt goosebumps rise on his arms as something cold formed in the back of his throat. “It’s... he was...”_

_“Where is he?!”_

_The door to the garden clattered open suddenly, and Hanato’s mother appeared, heavily pregnant and wild eyed –she searched the room frantically until she finally saw him sitting stiffly at the table. Sunako let out a mix between a sob and a gasp of relief and nearly took out a few heads in her haste to reach him as fast as possible. Her arms wound around Hanato’s shoulders and pulled him close, and a second later she was sobbing into his hair harder than he’d ever witnessed in his life._

_“Oh my god, oh, **thank god **you’re okay! Hanato, my –oh, my **baby**!” She howled like a wolf defending its young, simultaneously deepening the pit of guilt in Hanato’s stomach and making him feel extremely small. “I was so worried!”_

_“Okaasan, you shouldn’t be up!” Hanato sputtered, cradling his mother’s rigid form as she leaned over him protectively. A few of the members in the room began leaving, but Hanato couldn’t think about much else than was right in front of him. “You, you can’t afford to get hurt so late.” Unfortunately that only made her cry harder and hold faster, and Hanato floundered –out of his depth, he wanted to soothe her but he didn’t know why she was like this or how to make it better._

_“Hanato.”_

_Hanato looked up and saw his father standing a few feet away in the now empty room, looming with a frightening expression on his face, and everything was **wrong** and a shiver of fear shot up Hanato’s spine._

_“Sakurai,” his mother said with reproach in her voice, her hands still holding Hanato’s shoulders, but his father spoke past her._

_“Where have you **been**?” He asked, dangerously calm, the expression never shifting._

_“I –I got caught up in Toarushi,” Hanato stuttered, and that cornered, caged feeling started crawling its way down his throat again. “My –my phone, one of the guys –he lost it and –and I didn’t –I didn’t-”_

_“You did not **think**!” His father bellowed. “We have been **sick** with worry you **foolish** child! Your mother has nearly fretted herself into exhaustion!”_

_“Why’s it such a big deal?!” Hanato demanded, drawing away from his mother and puffing up defensively, his fight or flight winning out on the worst option but he couldn’t **stop **himself. He was angry, he was confused, why was everything so **wrong**? “I’ve missed curfew before! I’ve lost my phone before! Why is **this time**-”_

_A sharp pain across his cheek sent him off his feet, and he pushed himself up from the floor in shock. His mother was standing above him and facing his father, who still looked apoplectic with rage –and Hanato touched the hot, stinging swath of his cheek, stunned and feeling like he was facing strangers._

_Sunako put her arms out to block Sakurai from getting closer. “Stop, stop it-”_

_“We have not been able to find you for nearly two days, and the last person you were seen with was **Wakatoshi**!” He had only seen his father like this once before –when a new member of the gang had murdered an elder, and Sakurai’s face then had been wracked with the same mix of fury, grief and wild terror. “You shame the Momoda by disrespecting his memory!”_

_“His –Otousan, what’s going **on**?!” Hanato started to hyperventilate –everything today was going so wrong, nothing was making sense and it was awful, he was terrified. Neither of his parents had ever so much as shouted at him before, had never been so distraught before, never, not even when he was twelve and went to visit Raku and Issei-ji without telling anyone-_

_“What happened? Where’s Wakatoshi, what is everyone not **telling** me?!” Hanato’s throat was tight and he had to force the words out, his eyes burned and underneath his skin his flames were coiled and ready to lash out. All he could think about was Nayoshi, already cried out before Hanato even got there; his mother, hysterical with worry and relief; his father’s dead, anguished stare. “Why are you acting like this? I don’t understand, I didn’t mean to –I didn’t –what did I **do**?!”_

_The silence from his parents made him look up, and with a hiccup he saw their horrified faces and broke down –he shuddered and sobbed, overwhelmed and out of his body. There was a thump in front of him, but Hanato couldn’t tell what was happening._

_“You don’t know,” his father’s voice was scraped out, a groan of despair that sent renewed shaking through Hanato’s frame. “No one **told you**.”_

_Hanato dragged in a wet gasp and finally looked –his father had fallen to his knees while his mother stayed standing, still poised to jump in at a moment’s notice. _

_“...Otousan?” Hanato felt small again under the weight of his parents’ stares._

_“Wakatoshi was killed, yesterday.”_

_Then Hanato couldn’t breathe –his stomach fell out, his throat closed on another guttural sob –Sunako dropped down and pulled him to her again, and his father looked like he wanted to reach out, but he retreated sharply, his eyes on Hanato’s face. No, Hanato didn’t want that, he wanted things to be okay again, so he reached desperately forward and seized his father’s hand and wouldn’t let it go._

_“The last anyone saw you was when you left with Wakatoshi yesterday –and then there was an attack on the office, by the Tomaso. We didn’t know where you were, or if –oh, **Hana**,” Sakurai rattled out a gasp and gripped his hand tightly, but didn’t move closer. “I couldn’t think –the Tomaso wouldn’t **say**-”_

_“T-Tousan, Kaasan...” Hanato choked and clung to his father’s hand and his mother’s shirt, and he broke down even further. Waka-ji was gone –the man may have been measured and too-sharp and subtle in his affection but he was his **uncle** and now –**now**-_

_“I’m sorry, I –I’m sorry!” Hanato cried. He had let Nayoshi down, he’d made his parents think the worst, he would never be able to talk to or see Waka-ji again and there wasn’t anything that could take any of this back. He was a bastard, he’d never hated himself so much, never felt so unmoored and out of place. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I –I didn’t know, I didn’t think! I –I’m so –I...”_

_“You didn’t know, Hana,” his mother soothed, tears in her voice._

_“It isn’t your fault,” His father said desperately. “Hana, it isn’t, it isn’t your **fault**.”_

Harry woke up already crying, his entire body on fire, the air stolen from his lungs and his arms stuck to the bed underneath him. It was dark and he couldn’t make out anything past his eyes, and even as he thrashed he struggled to make noise, like it was snuffed out alongside his breath. The pain got worse as he tried to kick out, tried to see what was suffocating him, but it was too dark, too quiet.

Finally a light blinked on somewhere to his right and a muffled voice grew louder as whoever it was approached him, but by the time they reached him he was fading again.

_Hours later, after his mother had finally allowed herself to be helped back to the bedroom and Hanato had fled to his room to collect himself, there came a knock on the door. Hanato called for them to come in with a thought that it might be Bandou with some leftovers, but he was caught off guard when it turned out to be his father._

_They stared at each other tensely for a minute, Hanato seated on his bed and Sakurai standing quietly just outside the doorframe. Hanato wanted to break the silence, but the words froze in his throat when his father lowered himself to the floor in one smooth motion, place his palms upon the hard wood and bowed forward, exposing the back of his neck. _

_“I am sorry for striking you,” Sakurai said, not able to see Hanato’s face twist in shock. “You did not deserve it, you could never. My harsh words were unfounded –I have never thought of you as a shame to our family. If there is anyone who sullies the Momoda it is myself, for how I treated you.”_

_“Tousan, don’t –don’t talk like that,” Hanato protested, voice weak from holding back more emotion. His father raised his head and Hanato scooted over so that Sakurai could sit next to him. “I’m the one –I’ve been so awful. All I’ve done lately is fuck around, make you worry, make everyone disappointed. I’m –I feel like a burden. I don’t deserve to be here.”_

_Sakurai was quiet for a few minutes, his hand rubbing circles into Hanato’s back, and Hanato knew he was studying him. “...you really are a foolish child,” he said, and Hanato looked up at him with confusion plainly written on his face. “Hanato, you are the greatest gift Sunako and I have ever received, and I have never been prouder of anyone in my life. It’s true that we have worried lately, but you are a teenager, and it’s normal to be irresponsible.”_

_“Every day I am thankful I have you for a son. You have **never **been a burden to us, nor a disappointment, and I promise that your mother and I love you.” Hanato’s breath hitched, and for the third time that night he started crying, soaking up Sakurai’s comfort like it would disappear any second. “I’m sorry I made you feel your place here was in question. I’ll do better, I promise. You’re my son, Hana, more than I deserve.”_

_“But –But what about wh-when the baby’s here?” Hanato asked in a tiny voice between hiccupping sobs. “I al-already let N-Nayoshi down a-and Waka-ji’s g-g-**gone**. What if I’m a bad big brother? Wh-What if I –what if-”_

_“You will be fine, Hana,” his father interrupted, squeezing his shoulders. “Everyone makes mistakes, but Wakatoshi was never anything but proud of you. He was prouder of you than he was of his own achievements, and you won’t let him down. He is gone, but you can remember him and live **for** him.” Sakurai pulled Hanato in for a hug, smoothing his hair down to try and help him calm. “You **will** be a good big brother, and someday you will be a good-”_

_Hanato made a noise of confusion and pulled back enough to see his father’s face at the abrupt silence._

_“Tousan?”_

_“...it’s nothing,” Sakurai assured him. “Stay home tomorrow, okay? I can tell your flames aren’t circulating properly. And I think there’s a lot we need to talk through, with your mother included.”_

_Hanato nodded and wiped at his puffy eyes. He hated crying. “When’s Waka-ji’s funeral?”_

_“In a few days. The visitation will be the day after tomorrow, and he will be placed in the family’s cemetery on the grounds.”_

_Hanato hummed and managed to push aside the burning behind his eyes, moving closer again and not intending on letting the comforting blanket of his father’s flames leave him just yet._

Harry woke up so disoriented that it took him a whole minute to realize he was in the hospital wing, and not on the Quidditch pitch where he was almost positive he last was. His arms were like lead, and his head full of cotton. There was a soft, crackly radio sound somewhere far off, the tinny tune a band he thought he recognized but couldn’t be sure. He breathed in and the air rattled around his lungs and it _hurt, _as if he’d been screaming enough that something had torn, as if he’d guzzled hot tea.

When he finally came back to awareness, when the dream came back in washed out scenes and concepts and _all he had done_, it was no relief. The old, familiar desperation to hurt worse, to dull his senses with alcohol, to make it all _stop_ overwhelmed him, and when Madam Pomphrey responded to whatever spell told her he was awake she got the dubious honour of seeing Harry empty his stomach into the waste bin. Harry was already sobbing when she took it from him and eased him back onto the bed; she raised her wand and Harry keened in fright.

“No, n-, _pl-se_, n-sp-lls!” He begged in a voice barely able to form words around the cracks in its tone, his skin barely containing _something _inside him that wanted to tear the stick from her grasp and split it in two like he’d done to Malfoy. Pomphrey’s low voice murmured that she wouldn’t if he didn’t want her to, and she telegraphed her movements to show him that she was stowing it away in its holster. The something settled, only just, and Harry got a moment of relief before his mind latched onto his parents and Nayoshi and Waka-ji and he dissolved into heaving tears again.

Madam Pomphrey used a wet cloth to clean his face and his neck and Harry let her, too strung out to protest. He was a bastard, he was loved; he missed his uncle, his uncle hated him; he knew everything about himself, there wasn’t a single thing he could point to that he thought was real. His parents were alive in his mind and dead in the ground, he had no siblings, he had many, many cousins, he hated his family, he loved his family. He was here, but this place looked less and less like home every time he went to sleep. He wanted to live –he wanted to die.

He was cracking down his seams with these dreams, he was going to break apart with the knowing and not remembering but _knowing_, why couldn’t he just _understand_? Why couldn’t he just-

_The visitation was small; Hanato spent the time watching Waka-ji’s family, who despite being estranged from the man had wanted to attend when informed of his death. They were allowed no input on the proceedings, and kept to themselves –mother and father and a brother and sister, all civilians who hadn’t spoken to Wakatoshi in over ten years, maybe longer._

_Condolences and well wishes came in steadily from others in the business as well as the civilians in the neighbourhood. Wakatoshi had been admired by many despite his tendency to act distant and critical, and it was humbling to stand beside his parents and receive these people, to listen to story after story of the ways Waka-ji had been a good man. Everyone went to three people out of the entire crowd; the three who were most affected by his death._

_Sakurai was the first. Wakatoshi had been his Sun, the only Lieutenant he had lost in his tenure as the Momokyou-kai Kumich_ _ō, so many years after his Advisor, Munakata –Hanato’s father wasn’t in danger of Discordance anymore, but he remained subdued and dim through the greetings. Then there was Adachi-ojii, who had been around during Hanato’s grandmother’s generation and had been the one to recruit Wakatoshi. He watched him grow from a scrappy, cold hearted young man to the widely known, respected Lieutenant that he was –that he had been._

_Kana-ba was the third, was Waka-ji’s partner for longer than Hanato had been alive, and they’d always been close as siblings and bled, laughed and cried together for as long as Hanato could remember. Except for those two separate years when one and then the other was in prison, they had never been without one another; according to the stories, Kana-ba had even followed him into Harmony with Sakurai._

_Hanato held his grief in until the hall where the visitation was taking place was nearly full, and then ducked out to go to the graveyard. He’d spent many a summer day putting brush and soapy water to the stones inside, sometimes those of his direct family but more often he took care of the ones that hadn’t been tended to in a while. He had attended funerals before, for people he knew personally. His maternal grandfather had died when he was small, several members had been killed over the years in skirmishes with the Tomaso-gumi or the Kokatsu-kai, and every family had their sicknesses and accidents that ended in a death._

_But Wakatoshi was different. Except for that one year, he had always been there; more of an uncle than Issei, easier to approach than Obaa-sama or Adachi-ojii, and always, always invested in his life, no matter how stupid Hanato had acted._

_Hanato skirted the tall stones until he came to the back garden where his mother found him as a toddler. Over the years it had become a place he could count on for some privacy, so he knew no one would bother him if he retreated there so he could cry a little bit._

_Or at least, no one in the family would._

_“Ciaossu, Momo-bozu.”_

_Hanato wiped his eyes and glared at the Arcobaleno standing cool as could be on the low wall a few feet away, but he found he didn’t have the energy to muster any real animosity._

_“What do you want, shit tutor? It’s not a good time.” Even as he said it, Hanato cursed himself for sounding just as much the brat that Reborn thought him to be. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”_

_“This will only take a few minutes,” Reborn countered, frustratingly calm. Resigned, Hanato hoisted himself up on the wall to join the hitman. “Tsuna knows he overreacted.”_

_“He didn’t,” Hanato shook his head. “If anything, he let me off easy. I should’ve done better.”_

_“Fine, then Tsuna **thinks **he overreacted. And he found out about Imada Wakatoshi.”_

_“Fucking hell.”_

_Reborn levelled him with a surprisingly severe look for a man that was stuck in the body of a toddler. “He might be the next boss, but he doesn’t know how to handle these things yet. He has a lot to learn. Tsuna thinks you already knew about Imada’s death and he’s beating himself up over it.” Reborn stood, his eyes shaded. “If he was right, then go set him straight on that. I don’t want him to have some subconscious block on his flames because he told you off in his hyper dying will mode.”_

_Hanato turned to make some remark –maybe ask Reborn why he didn’t just set Nayoshi straight himself if he was such a bigshot –but the hitman was already gone._

“Wh...?” Harry slurred and lurched upwards, and a hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“Don’t fret, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomphrey placed a cool hand on his feverish forehead. “You fell asleep for a minute or two.”

She helped Harry lay down once more, propped up this time on a few pillows when he moaned out his stomach’s disagreement with ‘horizontal’. He accepted a cup of water and wasn’t even embarrassed when she had to help him hold it to his face, just felt grateful he was drinking something. The hysterics from sometime before now had faded enough that he just felt like a pot scoured out but not yet clean of all the black, burnt old food in the bottom. God, he hated crying.

“Wh-h’pp-n’d?” Harry asked, or tried to at least since his vocal chords definitely didn’t want to form vowels right now. “Why’m h’r?”

“Don’t try to talk too much, now,” Pomphrey tapped her own throat in example. “You... were screaming rather a lot, Mr. Potter. Nightmares I expect.” Harry cleared his throat anyway, and got a sharp stab of pain for his trouble. “From what I’ve been told, there was an accident on the Quidditch pitch involving a new beater and an un-maintained bludger. You’ve no head trauma, Merlin forbid, but you’ve still been in a coma for a few days.”

Harry was a bit surprised that he hadn’t dreamt more than the few scenes he could fuzzily outline, and more than a little bit miffed that he _hadn’t _got one upside the head –it might have knocked whatever was wrong with him loose enough for him to go back to normal. He let out a gusty sigh and sank back a bit into the pillows, eyes already feeling heavy although he hadn’t been awake more than ten minutes at the most.

“_T-m_?” He managed to get out with enough of a strain that Pomphrey understood he meant ‘team’. If he’d been out for days, then someone else would have had to take over supervising practice and booking the pitch.

“A pack of wolves couldn’t rival them. They’re outside every afternoon, though I wasn’t going to let them in until you stopped forgetting your surroundings, Mr. Potter.” Madam Pomphrey took the empty water glass he still held in his weak hands and placed it on the bedside table. “If you’d like, and you’re able to keep awake longer than this next time, I’ll let them in.”

Harry nodded quickly, and lost his ability to think.

_It wasn’t until Isami –stubborn, loyal, **cautious** Isami –actually came to the doors of Hanato’s home on his own and asked to see him that Hanato realized a week had passed since he’d returned from Toarushi._

_“Ah, Momoda-kun!” Isami exclaimed when he finally appeared in the living room –Isami was visibly uncomfortable sitting among the few milling members of the Momokyou-kai, and even reverted to their old formality, but still he stood up and joined Hanato in an instant. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but you’ve never gone this long –I was getting worried. You look terrible.”_

_Hanato snorted at Isami’s blunt assessment. “Sorry, let me explain over tea.” They went into the kitchen and Isami was already less tense. It was quiet for a minute while Hanato busied himself with the kettle. “My uncle was –killed unexpectedly in a shoot out.” Hanato admitted quietly. “If I’d gone back before he was cremated I’da broken down in class or somethin’. Didn’t mean for you to worry.”_

_“Oh –I’m so sorry, H-Hanato-kun. I... I know how you feel,” Isami frowned. “I thought it was those guys you fought with had followed you or something.”_

_“Ha, they **wish **they were that competent.”_

_“They came at you with a sock full of rocks, once.”_

_“All in good fun, I retaliated with a wrench, y’know,” Hanato laughed a bit wetly, glad that he could still have some semblance of normality right now. “Thanks for checking on me, Isami-kun.”_

_“Don’t mind, you’re my best friend,” Isami accepted a cup of green tea and his shoulders rounded in towards the heat. “I should mention, while I’m here. Amachi’s been asking around, and now he’s got the Arson Brothers dogging his steps.”_

_“Fucker,” Hanato sighed. “To think I almost made it a year under the radar...”_

Harry came back rather abruptly, this time to the setting sun in the windows and a low buzz of people through the doors that led into the Hospital Wing. The curtain around his bed was mostly drawn, and if he squinted he could make out the silhouette of Madam Pomphrey walking by to check on one of the beds at the other end of the wing.

“Awake again, Mr. Potter? Do you remember the last time?” She poked her head in a minute later, a tray of food ready to set on the side table. Harry nodded, and tapped at his throat to mimic what she’d done then, and Pomphrey gave a decisive nod. “Well, you certainly seem a little more lucid. What do you say I let your teammates in? I _trust_ you won’t overdo it.”

Harry nodded again, and even managed, “Th’nks,” without too much trouble. She left the soup and water in front of him on a little bed table, and he managed to eat about half of it before the curtain rattled open and a half dozen Gryffindors tumbled through, Hermione and Ron at the helm.

“Harry!” they both exclaimed, and Hermione expertly flicked her wand to move the tray up to float a few feet above the new gathering, not noticing the flinch Harry made at the display. She and Ron crowded on either side of him and hugged him around the shoulders, as careful as they could be while jittery with expectation and babbling in his ear in relief.

“H’y, g’ys,” Harry rasped, fondness ballooned in his chest so much that it hurt –wait, that was just Ron squeezing a tad too hard.

“Merlin, Harry, I’m so sorry!” Coote exclaimed, coming closer with Robins and Peakes close at his heels. Harry vaguely recalled that the reason he was in here was because of a bludger mishap. “I really didn’t mean to hit it so hard! I didn’t check my routes, it’s all my fault you’re hurt!”

“C-te, s’fine,” Harry beckoned him forward and pat the younger teen on the shoulder to try and make him feel better. “H’d w’rse, it h’ppens.” He had to cough for a bit after talking so much, and accepted the glass of water Ron passed him. “D’n’t m-nd, yeah?”

Coote still looked like he wanted to cry, but he nodded in acceptance –at least there was someone on the team who knew that once he decided something, he wasn’t likely to budge. Robins squatted down on the ground and rested her arms and chin on the bed and looked happy to be included, while Peakes pulled Coote back a little and started whispering what sounded like reassurances to him. Katie stepped forward and inspected him quietly for a minute, and Harry wondered what he looked like to her after so long suffering from his dreams and lack of a shower.

“Is your head okay, Harry? We all thought you got a concussion.” She asked, and Harry managed to convey that while he’d been in a coma of some sort, there wasn’t any head injury he had to worry about. “Merlin, that’s good to hear. We’ll be glad to have you back once you’re cleared.”

Harry realized something right then, and it’s what made him say with surprising strength, “I d’n’t th’nk I will be.”

Six pairs of eyes looked at him ranging from confusion to shock. “What’re you talking about, mate?” Ron asked.

“I’m st’pping down. Katie, I w’nt you t’ be the capt-n.” Harry cracked a smile when everyone started talking over each other, which for some reason made them all quiet just as quickly. Usually he had to shout. “’M s-rious. ‘M not ‘nvest’d like I used t’ be, an’ I nearly got m’self kicked off the t-m ‘lready. Y-d be better for it.”

“Harry, you can’t-” Katie stopped mid-sentence and turned bright pink. “What I mean is, you’ve been on the team for five years –everyone really respects you. This just seems really sudden.”

“It is,” Harry acknowledged. He felt lighter already, like that something from earlier was aligning better with the rest of him, like the influence of the dreams was doing him good instead of just _promising_ a payoff down the line. “There’s other r-sons too, but ‘m not c’mf’t’ble talkin’ about them. B-t I’d feel better ‘f you accept’d. Make Gin’ the S-ker ‘nstead.”

“Harry, this isn’t because of-” Ron quickly stopped, a brief flash of ‘oops’ crossing his face. “-Erm, _that_, is it?”

Harry knew the rest of the team were listening in curiously, but it didn’t bother him. In the dreams he’d experienced an awful disassociation whenever self-loathing or guilt overwhelmed him, but here he felt unmoored in a good way, like he was detached from his anger and baggage but not from his higher mind. “It is, m’stly. An’ I know tha’s only g-nna worry you, b-t trust me. We’ll talk m’re once ‘m outta here, a’right?”

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione, clearly evaluating whether they should listen to him in his addled post-injury state, but after a minute Ron nodded decisively. “Okay, mate, I trust you.”

“Good,” Harry noticed that Katie had taken a step back and didn’t look like she was going to give him an answer just yet, so he changed the subject. “S’ h-w l’ng exac’ly was I out?”

Hermione launched into a recap of the last three days, with the Quidditch team interjecting now and then with funny anecdotes and little rambles from Coote when his anxiety got the better of him. Harry knew he would miss this about the team more than he would the games themselves, but it wasn’t as if he would never be able to just sit with them once he was no longer playing. At the end of the summer all he could’ve wanted was to play again, so this felt odd and out of character, but he also knew, somehow, that it was for the best.

Besides, with the rate things were going he got the impression he was going to find out why this felt right pretty soon anyway...

_The door to Nayoshi’s room was closed, which Hanato hadn’t been expecting, for some reason. The younger boy was the type to need people around him in order to feel better, and even though this was more logical for a hospital there had still been a part of Hanato that assumed he would only be one of many visitors to the kid’s room. But here he stood awkwardly in front of the door, no noise coming from within and the Vongola guard a dozen metres down the hall staring at him judgementally._

_He already knew what he had to say. He didn’t like the so-called ‘World’s Greatest’ one bit, but the man had been right about one thing. Hanato could feel like a piece of shit all he wanted, but Nayoshi didn’t deserve that. Sky flames notwithstanding, Nayoshi would dig himself into a pit of guilt if Hanato didn’t intervene; it was just the kind of person he was. He cared too much._

_Now he just had to go in there and hope Gokudera wouldn’t make too much of a fuss before he could apologi-_

“Harry? Sorry, but we’ve got to leave.”

“Huh...? No, ‘m awake,” Harry swam back into the Hospital Wing –Coote and Peakes and Robins were gone, leaving only Katie, Ron and Hermione behind. The hall wasn’t much darker than before, so he had probably only napped for a few minutes at least.

“Pomphrey’s orders, Harry,” Katie joked, and with a sigh Harry nodded in acceptance. But Katie didn’t leave just yet. “Harry... are you sure about leaving?”

Leaving...? Oh, she meant the team. “O’course, Katie. Wha’do y’ say?”

Katie hesitated again, before her shoulders straightened and she cleared her throat. “I –yes. If you’re sure, then I’ll accept the position from you.” She probably noticed that he relaxed a little at her statement, because her face turned a little more confident. “But if you change your mind, even a little bit, you’re always welcome to come back, Harry! It just won’t feel the same without you!”

Harry snorted and waved her off, so it was just his two best friends left with him.

“T’ke care of ‘em, Ron?” He asked, and his friend paled.

“You sound like you’re about to do something neither of us’ll like, Harry,” Ron sat down on the bed on his one side, while Hermione took the other, and again that something in his vague torso area settled when they each sunk down enough that they were pressed up against his legs. “We... we heard you screaming through the door, when you first got brought in.”

“They w’re m’re like nightm’res, f’r awhile.” Harry admitted, glad his voice was strengthening. “I... well y’ know ‘t’s patchy f’r me t’ remember a lot, but I let a lot o’ people down. I dis’ppointed m’self, an’ someone close t’ me died. B-t I feel like I needed t’ see it. It p-t things into perspective, if tha’ makes s’nse.” He looked up at the ceiling and thought about how to put this. “S’mething’s gonna change soon, I c’n _feel _it. ’M not gonna do anythin’ stupid –or at the very leas’ not without y’ g-ys-” That drew a laugh out of them both. “-and ’m not leavin’ or anythin’. B-t whatev’r’s goin’ on in m’ head is important, s’mehow. Once I get outta here, let’s go over those tr-nslations again.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Hermione said, just before Pomphrey came back around to kick them out for the night.

Vvv

_“Kiku’s birth was hard on her, too,” Sakurai told him while Sunako breathed through the worst contraction yet. “But it –it shouldn’t last long,” He winced as his fingers creaked under her vice grip. “Hana, you can wait outside if you’d like.”_

_“No! No, I-I want to be here.” Hanato didn’t think there was anything he wanted to do less right now than leave. _

_“Well, if you’re staying you’re going to do as I say,” The doctor said gruffly, and then thrust a piece of paper into Hanato’s hands. “Go an’ get this stuff, won’t be long now ‘fore the babe’s here.”_

_Hanato felt a little churlish at essentially getting kicked out of the room anyway, but dutifully ran out when his mother let out an agonized groan and his father yelped along with her tightened fist. The list mostly consisted of towels and other odds and ends –what really kept him out were the worried group members he had to field, all of them roused by Sunako’s screaming. Thank god his mother’s Sun was all the way out in Kyoto on business, otherwise Hanato didn’t know if he would’ve been able to handle that amount of... enthusiasm. By the time he’d returned and placed everything where the doctor directed, his mother had somehow got out of bed and was using a chair and Sakurai’s arm to squat down._

_It was an odd thing to see your mother assume such a pose, but Hanato tried to detach himself from the strangeness so he could focus on other things, like heating water and giving his father a break from keeping his mother balanced. It was several minutes before she stood up again, her expression significantly less tight than when he’d first entered the room._

_Once his mother was lying down again under the doctor’s attention, Hana received a brief hug from his father. “It helps the pain –the squatting,” he supplied. “Hana, have you given any thought to names?”_

_Caught off guard, it took a moment for him to answer. “Uh- a little. Isami made me read a baby care booklet.”_

_His father huffed a laugh. “When they’re born, tell us a few. We’re a little torn, still.”_

_“O-Okay!”_

_The aftermath of the labour was a blur –cleaning up around where his younger sibling had been born while Sunako laid down, exhausted. The doctor was leaving the umbilical cord for a few minutes until everything else was squared away, and then there was the matter of recording the weight and other measurements for the records. Finally the cord was tied and the baby was resting on their mother’s chest, skin to skin, and she was crying again –just watching the wrinkled little face as Hanato hovered anxiously behind his father and the doctor._

_“Your daughter is in perfect health, Momoda-sama,” the doctor informed Sunako, already getting the birth certificate ready off to the side._

_“Dau-”_

_“A sister!?” Hanato butted in and looked in new awe at –his little sister! He had a baby sister!_

_“She’s so small,” Sakurai breathed._

_“Hana,” His mother beckoned him over to her free side. “Help us decide on a name.”_

_“Well, I only thought of two...” Hanato leaned down and wondered at how bright red and wrinkly she was. “A name with ‘Ran’, [ ], for orchid, or ‘Mio’, with [ ] as in ‘beautiful’ and [ ] as in ‘cherry blossom’.”_

_“Mio...”_

_“Mio it is,” Sunako breathed, smiling, and Hanato’s brain stalled._

_“Y-You’re letting me **name** her?!”_

_“Well, if you had picked something awful we wouldn’t have,” his father teased quietly. “But Mio is a wonderful name. Perfect for her.”_

_“O-Oh...” Hanato ducked his head to sniffle, and felt settled._

_Hanato woke up hours later to the ringing from his phone, which he answered immediately. It was Nayoshi asking after his wellbeing and then ecstatic to hear about the uncomplicated birth. There was also a text from Isami which read nothing but the word ‘betrayal’._

_Hanato snorted –he’d said he would be back at school today, hadn’t he? –and texted back that he had witnessed the might of women and the beauty of childbirth, so Isami could’ve been on his deathbed and it would’ve been ruled a justified backstabbing._

_An energetic congratulations followed, and when Hanato told him her name Isami pointed out the ‘flower trend’ had continued, and wished them all well. Hanato spent another hour in bed listening to the workings of the house around him; opening doors and the occasional cheer, crying from his parents’ room as Mio became a little more aware of her sudden existence, and clattering from the kitchen that probably meant a big dinner was on the way._

_Just as he was stretching to get up, a knock sounded and Hanato called for them to come in; once again, it was his father, although this time he looked tired and happy instead of remorseful._

_“May I sit with you?” he asked, and Hanato quickly made his bed up. “You picked a wonderful name, Hana. I’m sorry I sprung it on you –we wanted it to be a surprise.”_

_“It was a nice surprise, so it’s okay,” Hanato rubbed at the back of his neck. “How are they?”_

_“Sleeping. Nodoka-sensei says they are as healthy as we can ask for.” _

_Hanato sighed in relief and leaned on his father’s arm, and it was quiet for a minute._

_“Hanato, I know that you are... insecure, sometimes, about the fact we adopted you.” Hanato’s stomach sank –he did **not **want to have this conversation –but at the first spike of his nervous flames Sakurai rushed his own in, trying to soothe even as he kept talking. “And I know that no matter what is said, you will have these doubts. This is okay, and your mother and I understand.” Sakurai shifted slightly so he was facing Hanato, and placed a hand on his shoulder._

_“I want to officially name you the heir to the Momokyou-kai, Hanato.” Hanato’s body flinched back in surprise, and he gaped at his father in complete shock. “You were always going to be the head of the Momoda one day, but I never wanted to tie you to **my** path if it wasn’t what you wanted. If it **is** what you want... I would be honoured to call you my successor.”_

_“Tousan,” Hanato scrubbed at his face, gasping in breath but not tearing up –instead he laughed in relief and nodded fiercely. “Ye –**Yes**, I do want to –I want this. Thank you, I’ll –I’ll do you proud.”_

_“You’re my son. You’ll be a good big brother, and as Kumich_ _ō you’ll bring nothing but honour to this family. Be sure of that.”_

_It was later, once Hanato had calmed down, that Sakurai gave him his first task as the official heir to the Kumich_ _ō –call every ally they had to tell them of his appointment and of Mio’s birth._

_“You just want to foist it off on me so you can sleep!”_

_Vvv_

_“Oi, Momoda!”_

_Hanato turned partially to watch the group approach him, glad that Isami had stayed late to help the soccer club when it registered just who it was. Muroto Zenmei, the eldest Arson brother, was on one side with Daitou Takeshi visibly uncomfortable to be next to him; both the younger Arson brother and Gaga were nowhere to be seen, but on the other side were both of the Naitou twins. Smack in the middle of the four was the big man himself, Amachi Hisashi, and Hanato felt his mood dip severely because this was exactly what he didn’t need right now._

_“Need somethin’?” He shot back, pointedly shoving his hands in his jacket pocket and only turning so his profile was visible –he was **not **going to give them the satisfaction of being on his guard. “Make it quick, would ya? I got more important things goin’ on right now.”_

_“Cheeky bastard,” Amachi sneered, but even so he detached from his posse and moved into Hanato’s personal space; he spoke lowly, but not so they wouldn’t be overheard, it was probably that he was trying to intimidate Hanato. “I hear you’re officially in line to take over for your old man, now.”_

_Despite himself, Hanato’s back straightened and he swelled with pride. “You heard right. What’s it to **you**?”_

_“I’m not one for kissing ass, so I’ll give it to you straight,” Amachi grinned menacingly and got right up into Hanato’s face, to see if he could make him take a step back when there wasn’t any particular difference in their height to force it. “I’m aiming to take over this town, and pretty soon I’ll be ready to take on Suzuran and Housen. Someone in your position would be useful to my efforts –why settle for some shitty backwater Yakuza group when you could eventually conquer Manji or the Zeniya working for me?”_

_Hanato glared coldly at the other man and turned to fully face him; he took a step forward so it was Amachi himself who was forced back. “I haven’t seen enough o’ you to say, but this is making me think you’re a real piece o’ shit, Amachi. I’d rather lead my family and die in some gutter than work for you and turn into the kinda scum we would **refuse**.” Amachi’s expression turned murderous as Hanato clearly looked down his nose at him. “You’re a pitiable man. With no bonds to speak of and only power filling your vision, I don’t see you getting past Tsukishima’s **lapdog**, let alone the man himself!”_

_“You’re really pissing me off!” Hanato tilted a bored gaze over to Zenmei, who was glowering at him through his cigarette smoke. “You don’t look so tough, bitch. Why don’t I kill him for you, Amachi?”_

_“Muroto-san, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Daitou muttered. “That’s the successor to the Momokyou-kai, y’know.”_

_“Yeah, well you’re a pussy! I’ve always wanted to kick the shit out of some high’n’mighty **heir** like him!” Zenmei snarled, and he shot towards Hanato clearly intending to do just that._

_Hanato wasn’t actually sure if he would be able to beat this man through physical prowess alone –Zenmei was ostensibly the worst of the so-called ‘Amachi Army’, and he’d been charged with robbery, assault and rape, among other things. And Hanato really didn’t want to find out, since he’d promised to watch Mio for the afternoon so his parents could get some time to themselves. So just before Zenmei threw the first punch Hanato ducked to the side, and when the older teen was rearing around to try and follow he charged his arm with Rain flames._

_Zenmei barely saw it coming, only felt the jarring impact of Hanato’s elbow as it collided with the side of his chin before he blacked out. Amachi’s clique all gaped in shock when the feared elder brother stumbled and gurgled out a protest before falling to the ground unconscious._

_Hanato straightened up to his full height and regarded Amachi with an unimpressed stare. “Can I go now?”_

_Far from Hanato’s expectations, Amachi’s expression turned feral and he bared his teeth in something that no one could call a grin. “Bit farther up the ladder than I thought, Momoda!” Hanato didn’t even get to react before Amachi was in his face again and his hand had seized the hair at the back of Hanato’s neck like a vice. “But not far **enough**!”_

_Hanato grunted as one of his feet was crushed under Amachi’s boot and the world spun as he got yanked forward, and despite himself he lost his grip on his flames. One of Hanato’s fists found purchase in Amachi’s stomach, but the other was batted aside, and then there was blood gushing into his mouth as a knee collided with his nose._

_Amachi released his hair and Hanato tried to pull away, but the pain was blinding and his glasses were obscuring the rest of his vision, and it was in helpless confusion that he finally managed to focus on Amachi’s triumphant smirk. The other man pushed Hanato further back, making him stumble on the station’s uneven floor. It was then that he realized what was behind him –just as Amachi’s boot slammed into his chest and sent him tumbling backwards down the station steps to the sidewalk below._

_“Have fun in your gutter then, Yakuza trash!” Amachi called while Hanato groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, his nose still gushing blood. “I’ll be sure to come and kill you one day!”_

_Hanato grit his teeth while Amachi and his goons disappeared from his blurry vision back into the station; he coughed harshly as some of the blood began to trickle into his throat, and it splattered the ground a little bit. People started to mill closer, wondering if they should approach him or call the cops –but Hanato couldn’t think straight enough to tell them off, he just ached._

_“Alright, up we get,” came an unfamiliar, accented voice, right before Hanato was hoisted up and slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of rice._

_Rather than make a bigger scene than he already had, Hanato simply groaned in pain and tried not to choke on his blood, and let himself get lugged up the steps; hanging like a limpet was easy even when he could acutely feel his face heating up with the rush of gravity. Whoever was carrying him went into the station proper and over to one of the benches further down the platform, which was where Hanato was deposited._

_“Ah, Romario, any tissues?” The man asked, and there was a bit of rustling before a wad of napkins was offered to him. “That sure was some tumble there, man. You feel like anything’s broken?”_

_Hanato shook his head, and accepted his glasses as well when they were passed over –he took a second to align his nose back into place, uncaring of the sympathetic hiss from above him. He decided it would be fine to look at whoever had helped him out once the blood actually **stopped**. It took a minute, and then Hanato glanced up._

_The man was probably in his early twenties, with blond hair and a European face –though Hanato supposed he couldn’t chuck rocks about that. He had tattoos poking out from underneath his collar and was dressed in casual clothing as opposed to the three men milling about behind him dressed in black suits. Hanato concentrated around his throbbing face and managed to pick up on the faint whiff of Sky flames simmering under the blond’s skin, with what was probably a Guardian bond connecting him to the moustachioed Rain in the suit. He groaned again and wondered if this had anything to do with Nayoshi and his damn Vongola blood._

_“**Thank you for assisting me, Signore Cielo**,” Hanato said in Italian, visibly startling the strangers. “**I am Hanato Momoda, the heir to the Momo Yakuza Organization in Namimori**. And you?”_

_The man blinked slowly for a second and then straightened subtly, giving an apologetic smile at his lack of an introduction. “Ah, I am Cavallone Dino,” he replied in Japanese, and offered a hand for Hanato to shake regardless of the bloody state of his fingers. “Tenth Don of the Cavallone Mafia. It’s good to meet you, even under less than ideal circumstances.”_

_Hanato chuckled and wrinkled his nose, glad when he no longer felt the drip of blood or as much pain as a few minutes ago. “It isn’t so bad now. He’s just a tricky fucker.”_

_Dino grinned goodnaturedly and then checked his watch. “You wouldn’t happen to know when the next train to Namimori is, Momoda-san? None of us are very adept at written Japanese...”_

_Hanato eyed the Mafia Don critically but honestly couldn’t think of a reason to be any more cautious than he typically was. He glanced over to the arrival board and then looked at his own watch, relief bubbling in his chest when he saw he hadn’t yet missed it._

_“One’s coming in a minute. I was waiting for it, before all that.” Dino nodded, sitting next to Hanato on the bench with an easygoing slump now that he too didn’t have to worry._

_“Good, too long of a delay would’ve been troublesome.”_

_Hanato decided that if he was going to be stuck with this bunch for awhile, he might as well fish for information._

_“Business, I assume? Not many in Namimori with Mafia ties,” Dino smirked back at him, probably amused at his lack of subtlety._

_“You know of ‘em?” Then, “Around your age, maybe?”_

_Hanato immediately flared in warning at the slight reference that the man might already know about his connection to Nayoshi, completely ready to grab the knife tucked into his boot. The unnamed Rain tensed as well but Dino waved him off and raised his hands to show he hadn’t meant any harm._

_“Only teasing, Momoda-san. I think of the kid like a little brother, nothing else,” Kid? Then he was almost certainly talking about Nayoshi since Longchamp fucking Naito was closer to Hanato’s age._

_“I know the Cavallone are allied with the Vongola, but he’s not been named the heir **yet**,” Hanato said testily –Dino blinked in surprise._

_“Uh –we **are** talking about Tsuna, right? Did I use the wrong term? It isn’t because of the Vongola, it’s because Reborn taught the both of us.” He said swiftly, as if embarrassed of a blunder; Hanato settles down a bit, helped in part by the reprieve of boarding the train right after. Dino and he sat across from each other, both beside the wall, while Dino’s three men took the seats beside them and the Rain in particular snagging the seat at Dino’s back._

_“You’re just a stranger to me, **Signore Cavallone**,” Hanato eventually said, drawing Dino’s attention again. “**And saying you think of him like a brother doesn’t tell me shit. I’ve thought the same since me an’ him were kids, but I proved a colossal fuck up the moment he needed me the most**.”_

_They spent awhile in an awkward silence, the only sounds the clattering of the train as it chugged through the suburb. Dino broke it when he pulled another tissue out of his pocket and held it out to Hanato, gesturing at his own nose._

_“It’s bleeding again,” Hanato cursed quietly and accepted the tissue. “So, uh, those guys back there,” Dino was obviously uncomfortable and trying to fill the silence, so Hanato made a noise for him to go on. “I only saw the scuffle in part but they seemed tough, ‘specially the blond.”_

_“**That guy’s a piece of work. A right dangerous bastard too –he’s clever, powerful, and worse, fucked in the head. Don’t even get me started on the rumours**.” Hanato grumbled out in Italian, emboldened when even the stoic Rain behind Dino turned his head to listen. “**Guy only cares about one thing, and that’s control. Even those fuckers followin’ him around don’t amount to more than attack dogs to him. Yet he thought I’d stoop so low as to fight for him after he insulted my family? Fuck that**.”_

_“**You ended up on his bad side, though**,” Dino sounded amused, and Hanato scoffed._

_“That shitbird’ll kill me when the sky turns neon pink and rainbows fly outta my ass,” he said scathingly, which caused Dino to choke on his spit and several other passengers to look over, scandalized. “Guys like him’ll go places, sure. But sooner or later they crash and burn **bad**, and then what? No family to fall back on, no friends to pick you back up. What a shitty life.”_

_“...you’re an interesting guy, Momoda-san.”_

_Later, about two stops before Namimori centre, Dino went ramrod straight and stood abruptly, a hard expression slipping over the previously relaxed one._

_“Thanks for keeping us company, Momoda-san, but our stop is next,” The three Cavallone members stood as well and made their way to the doors ahead of their boss. “**I realize I may be overstepping, but if you could please ignore any flame outbursts for today, it would be appreciated. It’s Vongola business**.”_

_Hanato fucking knew this whole thing was a little too convenient, and he stood up as well. “**That implies Nayoshi’s involved**.”_

_“**You can’t beat me, Momoda-kun**,” the slight drop in formality irked Hanato something fierce. “**It’s only Vongola business –even I’m not privy to the full details. But I promise I won’t let Tsuna get hurt, if I can help it**.”_

_Hanato was **not** happy that Dino had sprung this upon him –but the Don was right. Not only could he not hope to beat Dino in any fight, but now that he was the official heir, even just threatening to do so could put the Momokyou-kai in hot water if it wasn’t justified. Hanato grit his teeth and stamped down on his unruly Lightning flames, using his finer control over his Rain flames to calm himself down._

_“**Just **for today.”_

_“Thank you,” Dino said, and then the train stopped and he swept out after his men. Hanato turned to watch the city as the train sped forward, just in time to feel a swell of aggressive Rain flames far off before a building in the distance exploded._

_Vvv_

_Hanato had a dream during the night of an unfamiliar Sky coming to the compound and claiming they had Harmonized, and awoke from his sleep in a cold sweat. The thought of an unwanted Harmonization with an affiliated Sky had always unnerved him, ever since he learnt of what generally happened when an heir became a Guardian in such a way. He knew now that such a thing was changing in the wider community, and even then it was about as rare as a Tertiary flame, but even armed with the ability to block unwanted bonds he still couldn’t quite get over the whole concept._

_Still, looking down at his chest to see a Vongola Guardian ring hanging innocently from a chain around his neck nearly pushed him to flaring his flames to signal an **emergency**. He just barely managed to keep from doing it –sometimes he appreciated his lessons –when he caught sight of a note sitting on his bedroom table that hadn’t been there the night before._

_‘Ichinose Regional Hospital – Cancer Unit – 800 h’_

_Hanato knew where that was –he had been taken there as a child when it was still a general clinic, and it had been shut down for renovations last year. He looked to his clock and sighed, and even though he was still tired and the Vongola ring (holy fuck, holy fuck, holy **fuck**) freaked him out, he still swung his legs off of his bed and began to get dressed._

_“You’re up early, Hana,” his mother said when he walked into the kitchen to grab a thermos and some coffee –he was glad he had the foresight to stuff the ring and chain in his pocket. He gave her a one armed hug and ducked down to give Mio a dramatic kiss on the forehead since she was already awake._

_“N-Nayoshi needs help with somethin’,” he fibbed. “S’okay if I skip today?”_

_Hanato smiled briefly at the startled look on his mother’s face –he’d never asked permission before and it had obviously thrown her for a bit of a loop. “If you think you can’t make it in time,” she said, and Hanato agreed instantly to the compromise._

_Ichinose was several blocks away, closer to Hanato’s home than Nayoshi’s house or either of their schools. It was still mostly shut down, if not under as much construction as it had been months ago, but one of Don Cavallone’s men from yesterday was waiting by the entrance and waved him over. He directed him to a set of automatic doors just past where he was standing –Hanato entered quietly and none of the other teenagers in the lobby noticed, too caught up in their boisterous conversation._

_“I am incredibly honoured!” Gokudera exclaimed, visibly trembling at being chosen to bear a ring. “This is so exciting!”_

_“Gokudera’s ring is the ‘ring of storm’, and Yamamoto’s is the ‘ring of rain’,” Reborn said from his perch next to the Cavallone Don. Hanato hung back as Nayoshi’s friends wondered over the differences in the Guardian rings and Reborn explained a little more about the structure of the Vongola –which has remained unchanged from the original Harmonic Set configuration since its founding, a monumental task that sometimes, like with Nayoshi’s situation, caused them grief._

_It was when Nayoshi interrupted again to try and refuse the rings outright that Hanato stepped into the conversation and startled his little brother by coming up behind him and clapping him on the shoulder._

_“Hana-aniki! Not you **too**!” Nayoshi agonized, and Hanato laughed at the expressions on the three younger boys’ faces._

_“I’m afraid so,” he held up the ring and Nayoshi made a noise like a strangled cat. “But I’m sorry to say, shit tutor, I will not accept the Vongola ring, and Harmonizing on any level with Nayoshi is out of the question.”_

_His statement brought a brief shocked silence –with Nayoshi and Yamamoto looking confused and the others ranging from indignant to surprised to grim._

_“I thought you would’ve supported your ‘little brother’,” Reborn put forth, and already Hanato had to tamp down his churning flames._

_“I’ll always support Nayoshi,” he glared, but the master hitman didn’t appear the slightest bit phased. “You must not have heard, but I was named the successor to the Momokyou-kai a few days ago.”_

_“Oh **shit**,” Gokudera said –Nayoshi looked between Hanato and Reborn and looked even more confused._

_“What’s going on?”_

_Hanato was a little miffed that Reborn hadn’t already given Nayoshi and his band of baby Guardians ‘the talk’ yet, as it were. Nayoshi was a Sky, shouldn’t he of **all people** know about his Sky Attraction and the process thereof –unless the tutor had decided to fill every slot at once, which was its own kettle of fish. He mentally made a note on his ‘things to tell Nayoshi’ list._

_“In the Mafia, the Harmony system –one Sky leader and one of each element as Guardians –is the ideal, represented in the Vongola by the gifting of rings to the next in line. But Skies are rare, and wilful as fuck, usually, so the majority of Families tweaked the configuration so it didn’t have to involve a Sky at all. The Momokyou-kai is a family like that –following?”_

_When Nayoshi nodded, Hanato continued. “If an heir from a non-Sky led family becomes a full –that is to say, Harmonized –Guardian to an affiliated Sky like yourself, traditionally that Guardian loses their right to heirship of their family, since Guardians typically join their Sky’s family once Harmonized. It’s changing a little bit lately, but that’s still how a lot of the Mafia does things.”_

_“...Harmonized?” Nayoshi asked tentatively, and Hanato shot another glare at Reborn. _

_“An extremely close bond to another person, through your flames, basically. In the Mafia, once you start to Harmonize the person is labelled a Guardian, though different organizations have different terms. In the Yakuza, a Kumich_ _ō will have three ‘Lieutenants’ and three ‘Advisors’. A layterm would be something like a non-romantic soulmate,” Hanato quirked a grin when Nayoshi exclaimed in embarrassment, and gingerly passed the Lightning ring to him. “You’re my little brother, Nayoshi, but I can’t give up my family for you.”_

_“I –I could **never** ask you to do that!” he sounded scandalized at the very thought._

_“I know, and that means a lot to me,” Hanato scuffed at Nayoshi’s hair roughly –and that miraculously seemed to settle the kid. “There **are **a few things I think I need to go over with you, though, so come to my place tonight and bring those Guardians of yours, okay?”_

_“He can’t-”_

_“He can and he will,” Hanato cut Reborn off and managed to mostly ignore the terror he felt at the hitman’s lack of reaction. “I get there’s ten days, but an hour at my place won’t hurt –I’ll even ask some of the guys to show them some tricks. So make sure you’re all there by eight or you’ll have missed a big opportunity.”_

_Nayoshi still seemed to be wrapping his head around the Harmonization thing, but when Hanato knocked their shoulders together he looked up and hesitantly grinned. Maybe they weren’t fully past the trust Hanato had broken during the Kokuyo incident, but it looked like since Hanato’s apology Nayoshi had decided to let him try to repair their relationship. That was more than he could’ve hoped for._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I received a really insulting review! So now ya’ll get two chapters at once and a PSA that you should remember that fanfic is something people write for a variety of reasons, for free, and usually for fun! Hope you enjoy!

_“Aniki, you’ve got to help us!”_

_“Huh?! Whazzat?” Hanato jolted out of his bed with the cellphone still held to his ear, his heart hammering as it began to register who was speaking. “Where –what? Where are you? What’s wrong?” He was one leg into his jeans and reaching for the nearest shirt when Nayoshi elaborated in a strained whisper._

_“It’s Longchamp-kun! He roped us into one of his stupid contests!” Very, very briefly, Hanato relaxed as he got confirmation that it wasn’t the Varia choosing to assassinate everyone and be done with it –but then his sleep addled brain latched onto who Nayoshi was actually calling about, and he saw red. “We have to train, but he –well, his girlfriend –they’re not letting us go! Reborn’s not picking up! Please save us.” _

_ Hanato was already shrugging on a light jacket and jogging toward the front foyer –somehow he had slept in until noon, where did the time go? –and he waved off a few of the lower members when they asked what had him in such a tizzy. “Text me where you are, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He pressed the phone to his ear with his shoulder and tugged his running shoes on, and before he could think better of it, he said, “Punch that asshole in the face for me if I show up late.”_

_“Aniki?!”_

_“**Text me**, little brother,” Hanato stressed, and then hung up. As he exited the compound his phone chirped with a notification that Nayoshi was currently on the south east river bank near the middle school, and he started sprinting._

_Honestly, what even was his life anymore since Nayoshi re-entered it? Arcobaleno and the Varia, the Cavallone Don and Vongola Rings, sprinting out of the house at the drop of a hat to help the kid out? Was this just how things were going to be from now on? Hanato sure hoped they would calm down by the time he took over from his father, otherwise he saw stress-ulcers in his future. Thank god Isami was going to be a halfway normal Advisor and not a trouble magnet like Nayoshi’s Guardians were proving to be._

_Hanato saw them from the bridge –Nayoshi, Yamamoto, and Gokudera with red faces all entangled in some strange looking variant of jump rope, while Longchamp, Mangusta, and one of the Tomaso-gumi heir’s many, many girlfriends surrounding them. As he got closer the vague yelling resolved itself into Nayoshi’s protests, Mangusta’s cheering and Longchamp’s particular sort of laughter; Hanato had no clue how Nayoshi had managed to call him if this was what he had to deal with, but the kid deserved some props._

_Gokudera gave a sharp yell and managed to use what appeared to be mini-bombs to get the restraints off of them, and the three middle schoolers threw the ropes down with great relish if the kicks they levelled at it were any indication. Yamamoto fell back onto the ground and panted while Nayoshi dithered over his shoulder, and Gokudera began to yell at Longchamp and Mangusta about ‘keeping them from training’ and ‘putting the Tenth and the baseball idiot in danger of injury’. Longchamp just laughed in his face about it._

_“Peace, peace, Goku-chan! It was only a bit of fun, try reading the room!” Gokudera jerked back like he’d been slapped, his expression flicking away from anger for a brief moment, and Hanato was finally close enough to be heard._

_“Yo, Nayoshi! I’m here!” All three of the kids looked relieved, while Longchamp and his ilk gave Hanato confused, sceptical glances. Hanato lightly touched Gokudera’s elbow and nodded over at his friends, and the bomber ducked his head but moved over to them obligingly anyway. “Tomaso, you can piss off now. Your fun’s over.”_

** _“Hah_ ** _?! But Sawada-chan can’t go! He accepted my challenge to a death game of Toma-Double Dutch!” Hanato raised an eyebrow –even he had to grudgingly admit that the Toma-Double Dutch Death Match was no joke –but when he looked over to Nayoshi, his little brother burst out with;_

_“No I didn’t! You asked if I would talk to you at the river and when I got here you sprung this challenge on us and wouldn’t take no for an answer!” Hanato turned back to Longchamp, decidedly unimpressed._

_“I’m not gonna believe anything you say, Tomaso, so just drop it. And Mangusta,” Hanato glared at the man in question, stopping him where he had his hand half into his jacket’s inside pocket. “If you even **think** of using the Desolation Bullet, I swear I’ll kick his nose in.” _

_“Hey, you can’t talk to Longchamp-kun like that!” The girlfriend piped up, and Hanato ignored her._

_“Mangusta! Who even is this weirdo!” _

_Hanato paused and grit his teeth tight enough to hurt while Mangusta told Longchamp about the fact that Hanato was the heir of the Momoda and didn’t Longchamp remember him from Primary school and Longchamp made comprehending noises in response. Sometimes, when he wasn’t preoccupied with his duties or fighting or schoolwork, sometimes Hanato thought he was over it and could maybe put things aside with Longchamp if it ever came to that. Sometimes he thought he could forgive and forget, because if he was honest with himself, his whole beef with Longchamp had started from something relatively small, probably insignificant in the grand scheme of things._

_But then he spent five minutes in the other boy’s presence, and it all came rushing back even stronger than before._

_“Ooooh, Momo-chan! Why didn’t you just **say** it was you! Man, it feels like it’s been forever since we hung out!” That’s because it **had** been forever, the last time Hanato saw Longchamp was two years ago and before that not since Primary school and there was a **reason **for that- “I heard that Sawada-chan was gonna fight somebody, so I thought I’d give him the classic Tomaso Family training while I was around!” Longchamp slapped Hanato on the arm a couple times like they were sharing a good joke, and Hanato felt his knuckles creak from the way he clenched his fists. “Lemme tell you, he needs it! The guy’s like me, pretty useless in-”_

_Hanato didn’t even realize he’d broken Longchamp’s nose until the boy hit the ground, and by then he couldn’t even follow it up with a kick because Nayoshi and Yamamoto were on either side of him and preventing him from getting any closer. Mangusta looked like Hanato had struck **him **in the face instead of his charge._

_“Let’s get this straight, Tomaso, you and I will never be friends. So, **don’t** act familiar with me.” Hanato loomed a little, but didn’t try to fight against Nayoshi’s restraining hand on his arm. “Has no one ever told you that you can’t just insult people and act like it’s a joke? You’re a disgrace as an heir, you’ve got a shitty attitude, and you’re not even self aware when that fucking bullet of yours isn’t forcing you to be. Don’t fucking talk to me.”_

_“We’d thought you’d put your family’s... **animosity** behind you,” Mangusta said, offering Longchamp a wad of napkins; Longchamp was holding his nose and looked numb with shock._

_“Oh, I’ve tried! But then your heir fucked it up four years ago,” Hanato spat at the Tomaso’s feet for good measure. “And a few weeks back, not even a month, the **bastards** in your family killed my uncle. When I was missing at the same time, none of your elders gave my parents the time of day. Your Oyabun just let them think he’d killed me or had me hostage! You think you can act like we’re **buddies**, Naito Longchamp? The feud between our families will only end when I’m **dead **or I’ve **killed **you!”_

_Hanato shrugged out of Nayoshi’s grip and spun away, only a little glad when he heard the three teens he’d come here to help follow him at a bit of a distance. Hanato’s anger narrowed his vision, and it didn’t seem like very long at all before he was sliding down the bank of the north riverbank nearly halfway across town and finally letting everything out._

_“Fuck!” He yelled and kicked at a box of flotsam someone had set aside under the overpass, and he didn’t feel even a sliver of satisfaction when it toppled over noisily. He threw himself against the concrete support to the bridge and slid down to sit on the ground, tired despite sleeping the entire night and most of the morning. “Naito Longchamp! It’s always Naito fucking Longchamp.” _

_“...Aniki?” Nayoshi’s feet came into view, and he crouched down to peer into Hanato’s face. “I’m... I didn’t know that you and Longchamp-kun don’t get along. I’m sorry.”_

_“No sorrys about it,” Hanato sighed. “It ain’t something talked about.”_

_“...Um, do you **wanna** talk about it? You don’t have to!”_

_Hanato thought about it; he uncurled himself and stretched his legs along the grass and inspected the three teenagers sitting in a loose semi circle to his left. Yamamoto, surprisingly, looked the most out of his depth, while Gokudera was puffing away anxiously on a cigarette and Nayoshi was fiddling with his shirt sleeves and sneaking glances at him through his bangs._

_“Well, y’know my father’s the third generation Momokyou-kai kumich_ _ō, and the Tomaso-gumi are in their seventh.” The trio nodded and perked up when he began talking. “There’s a rumour that their first generation had a big standoff with the Vongola Secondo –that’s only partly true. The Tomaso Famiglia had a big split in the second generation, and while the main branch in Italy dissolved in their fourth, the other branch came to Japan and persisted up to now. They say the feud between the Momokyou-kai and the Tomaso-gumi started when my great-great grandfather set up shop –he took over a good half of Namimori within months, because the Tomaso were such fucking dumbasses.”_

_Nayoshi let out a hysterical giggle and then clapped his hands over his mouth –Hanato snorted. “Go ahead and laugh, they deserve it. No self respecting third generation would give up so much ground to an upstart group. But anyway, I always thought as a kid I would try to put it behind me. End the cycle of hate and all that. When I transitioned to public school and found out Naito Longchamp was in my class, it might as well have been a sign that I was right.”_

_“Eh? But, Longchamp-kun’s my age?” Nayoshi fluttered his hands in confusion, and then Hanato really barked out a laugh._

_“No he ain’t, Naito’s been held back two years ‘cause of all his skipping, and for being a moron.”_

_Hanato’s little bro exchanged a look with his friends, before looking Hanato dead in the eye and saying, “That’s creepy.” Hanato fell over with how hard he started laughing, and Nayoshi didn’t look even a little bit abashed despite explaining himself. “It wouldn’t be if he told us, but he just let us think he was a second year? He’s supposed to be in high school.”_

_“You’re a joy, Nayo-chi, I love you,” Hanato said once he recovered. “Well, long story short, I tried to be his friend. It was alright, but he, uh, started noticing girls a little early, and so I got dragged on a lot of kiddie double dates. I...” Hanato paused again, thought about skipping over it, and then decided to fuck it. “I was an early bloomer, too, but... not for girls, if you catch my drift. When I told him I didn’t want to go on dates with girls ‘cause I didn’t like them like he did, he looked at me and said, ‘C’mon, Momo-chan, don’t be a weirdo!’”_

_Yamamoto **cringed**, Gokudera sucked down literally half of his cigarette in one go, and Nayoshi frowned and said, “That’s awful! He shouldn’t’ve said that!”_

_“Well, I **do **have to acknowledge he was a twelve year old. They aren’t exactly the best at articulating how they feel. Regardless, I stopped being his friend.” Hanato shrugged. “He got held back and I went to Matsuoka Nigishi Mid, and when he went to Namimori Mid he got held back first year, too. I don’t see him around, our families still hate each other, and now I guess I’ve laid down a blood feud on my end, and that’s that.”_

_It was quiet for a bit, the three younger teens digesting what Hanato had revealed, and then Gokudera spoke up._

_“Wait, if they were in their third generation when the Momokyou-kai was in its first, Naito should be their sixth generation heir, not their eighth.”_

_Hanato raised an eyebow. “So when I called them dumbasses, it included a propensity for their newly appointed Oyabuns to piss off the wrong people and get assassinated, like, instantly.”_

_Vvv_

For a few days, the dreams almost seemed to subside –they were still there, to be sure, almost constantly trickling in whenever Harry was sleeping, sometimes even when he was just zoned out, but they weren’t as _affecting_ as the one’s he’d experienced while in the Hospital Wing. Instead, his head just kept feeling fuller, and he was finding it hard to keep the bits and pieces of his own life separate from that of this other boy, this dream self of his.

There should have been a very clear, very traumatic memory of when he was chased by one of Aunt Marge’s dogs into a tree, but all he could conjure up when he tried was a scene of himself at a similar age with Kana-ba, as he held her hand and was introduced formally to the compound guard dogs. The grandparent he’d met, Uncle Vernon’s mother, had been distant and suffering from severe Alzheimer’s in an old folks home, but every bit of her was lost to an imposing woman of great strength and greater renown, who even after retirement from the position of Kumichō still travelled around and worked as a mediator. Dudley was more and more pushed aside by the amiable, seldom seen Raku, while even the years at the school in Little Whinging was replaced by private tutoring and a late entry into public school proper.

Slowly, it seemed, Harry was losing his past in favour of this strange, half known person’s past.

Even more recent events during his years at Hogwarts were blurring and getting lost in the shuffle. He frequently got lost amongst the halls and staircases like a first year, and beyond those he interacted with every day, he was slipping up on names and titles like there was no tomorrow –calling Colin ‘Lambo’ was nothing when he forgot who Colin was altogether. Not to mention forgetting what the _Triwizard Tournament _was.

His friends were terribly worried, but so long as he remained frank and upfront about all of this they refrained from going over his head to the teachers about it. Harry just had the oddest feeling –almost a compulsion, Ginny said –not to involve too many people in this whole thing. He kept thinking that something wouldn’t turn out well if he spread it around, like someone was watching. Whenever he suspected he was over-thinking things, he remembered that night in the Hospital Wing when he had awoken suddenly, unable to breathe, and quietly reaffirmed his conviction to work this out himself.

Harry’s short lived break from long, involved dreams came to an end once they finished going through the accumulated translations his friends had been noting down all this time. Most of the newer ones he had no trouble with –all of them involved weather for some reason –but when he went back to the ones that had originally forced him to stop, he still stalled.

_“Ochitsuite, Mio. Sorede idesu._” He breathed in for a little while, Luna, Ginny, Ron and Hermione the only ones with him in the Common Room right now, again behind the Muffliato spell. The other three all had detention for one reason or another. “Calm down, Mio. It’s okay.” He felt a lump form in the back of his throat, and cleared it harshly –he had cried too much lately. “Sister. Mio –she’s my sister in the dreams. I named her.”

He processed a few scenes of himself –or whoever this was, Harry was starting to make up theories –with a baby held in his arms, feeding her or making noises at her. She was so small and wrinkly, the tiniest human he’d ever held, and it made his heart feel breakable.

“Okay!” Harry exclaimed harshly, and pushed through it. He could dwell on this afterwards. “Uh –_baka hageatama. _Means bald idiot, roughly. I’m also getting ‘baldhead idiot’, but that sounds super childish and in slang terms it is, like, _not_ directed towards the hair up top.”

“Harry!” Hermione sounded scandalized.

“I’m just being thorough!” He protested. “Fine, let’s get this last one over with. _Don’na sozokujin ga watashi o tsukurudarou ka? _I was asking a rhetorical question –what kind of heir would that make me?”

“You’re dreaming about being a Yakuza heir,” Ginny offered with no small amount of trepidation. “You’re seeing the life of one, somehow.”

“Well, it isn’t reincarnation,” Luna said. “Abenomics –you mentioned it last time –was put into effect two years ago.”

Ginny gave her a look. “How do you _know_ that?”

“Harry, this jogging anything for you?” Ron asked.

Harry hadn’t said anything for a few minutes, his mind stuck on Mio, that he could remember her birthday, that her favourite toy –in so much as she could have one –was a stuffed moon bear that Isami had bought for her, and how if he concentrated, he could recall how it felt when she kicked his hand while still in their mother’s stomach.

He swallowed. “So, best theory from me is –I dunno, I’m seeing someone else’s life, I guess.” Harry felt silly even voicing it, but it wasn’t like _anything _he said wasn’t going to sound out there. “Or I’m seeing the future? That makes even less sense, though, ‘cause McGonagall was in some...”

“Wait, you never mentioned _that_,” Hermione’s brow furrowed as she scribbled away in her notebook.

“Erm-” Harry could probably understand it now if he tried to, so he concentrated on that early dream of the Professor and the other boy and his mother. “She was saying that –that my, or his, birth parents would have wanted him to attend Hogwarts, but he had to make that choice for himself, because his parents used a different sort of magic.”

“...Harry, what’s this other boy’s name?” Luna prompted suddenly.

“I-” He tried, he really did; he knew it had been said a hundred times, a thousand times over the nights he’d dreamt, but he couldn’t grasp it. It had begun with an ‘H’, the same as him, which was probably why he hadn’t thought too much about it being a different person at first. “I can’t remember. I don’t know.”

Luna nodded, and then did something odd. She put her copy of the Quibbler down on the seat next to her and placed those weird kaleidoscopic glasses from years ago –how had they survived up to now? –in her lap, as if she was prepared to use them at a moment’s notice.

“Harry,” she began, uncharacteristically focused on him. “What does this boy in your dreams _look_ like?”

A flash of a face –dark skin, black hair, green eyes that weren’t common in Japan. A scar over his forehead like he’d been slashed at with a fork, nails cut short on calloused hands so he didn’t hurt his palms when he threw a punch. A white uniform torn and stained with a little blood, and the flickering of green and blue across his arm –the sparks and whisps of strange flame.

“Like-” _Like me,_ he wanted to say, but that was absurd. Unless the other boy was some long lost twin brother, it was highly unlikely he could look so much like a stranger. Literally the only difference was in their scars and haircut.

“I notice things sometimes,” Luna admitted. “It makes people call me loony, but I do. And Harry, you’re _covered_ in what only I can see.” She reached forward and made a motion like she was brushing something away from his face, but there wasn’t anything there, not even a tingling sensation. “Everyone from my mother’s side could do it. And there’s something else.”

Luna stood up and asked them all to wait a minute, and then walked away from the Muffliato bubble to beckon a random third year over to her; once they had spoken a minute, he went and climbed out of the portrait hole. When Luna came back, she asked Ginny to go find the kid and tell him a random fact about Harry and Hermione, and though none of them knew where this was going, Ginny acquiesced.

As soon as Ginny left the Common Room, Luna waved her wand and cast a disillusionment charm on Harry , then had him stand against the wall. All of them were absolutely mystified when she told them to pretend like Harry wasn’t there. A minute later, Ginny came back into the Common Room, the third year in tow behind her. Strangely she didn’t comment about Harry’s sudden absence, just took her seat as Luna prompted the third year to tell them what Ginny had said.

“She said that Granger’s random fact is, she once socked Draco Malfoy in the face,” he looked at Hermione, impressed. “That’s all, though. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it, thank you,” Luna said, measured. Ginny seemed satisfied with the answer, but Ron and Hermione both looked confused and kept glancing over to where they knew Harry was standing. “You can come out now.”

When Luna dispelled the charm Ginny jumped a foot in the air as if she’d really completely forgotten about the fact he was in the room, and a lead ball dropped into Harry’s gut. He was glad they were behind the Muffliato spell, because suddenly his skin felt like it was crawling, like eyes were everywhere. Ginny shook her head and looked around, confused.

“How... long have you been there?” She asked, unnerved. “Wait, we were just talking, weren’t we? I forgot to tell that guy a fact about you!”

“_That’s _what I noticed. My family calls it the Sight, but we never let it grow too much, or we lose our magic. It’s why I _can _notice, while everyone else just forgets.” Again, she tried to swipe something away from Harry’s forehead, and this time Harry mirrored her –Ron gasped, and Harry quickly flinched back.

“What, what is it?”

“Your scar, it –it changed!” Ron was whispering, like he too had cottoned onto the fact that this was _not right._ “An’ when you pulled away, it went back to normal. Harry...”

“So –So everyone forgets me when they can’t see me?” Harry asked Luna, jittery, like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. “And this –_stuff _makes my scar look like this? How long have you noticed, Luna?”

“Since we went after Sirius, in the Ministry,” she said. “At least, I suspected, but at the beginning it affected me, too. I’ve had to strengthen my Sight over the summer just to remember what it was I was suspicious about. Harry, I don’t concretely remember you at all before that day.” Luna reached over and took his two hands so he could see –she waved off something around his left palm while he mirrored her with his right hand, and then it became clear what Ron had glimpsed on his forehead. His hands used to be fairly unmarked, the gardening in his childhood not so strenuous that it would’ve left scarring, but _now _there were little crescent moons on his palms, where he must’ve punched someone too hard with too long nails and cut himself. She moved the demonstration to the ‘I must not tell lies’ scar on the back of his hand, and it disappeared as well, briefly, leaving instead a round, deep scar as if his hand had been punctured by a pen.

“This is absurd,” Hermione said faintly, staring at Harry’s hand the same as the rest of them. “There’s no way you could’ve –what, been slipped into Hogwarts in June with no one the wiser. Not even advanced memory spells could manage that.” But even then she didn’t sound all too convinced of her own words. “Harry... early on, you said it felt like you were _remembering _things. What if you are?”

“It doesn’t work the same all the time,” Luna pointed out. “For instance, the teachers remember you enough to mark your work or follow up with detentions –it might be due to the written record of those things. And there’s a couple other students who seem to remember you outside of your presence...”

Harry’s mind was blank, a static of white noise as he listened to his friends theorize around him. When Luna tried to pull her hand away from his, he seized her wrist suddenly and she stopped, and waited patiently for him to collect himself.

“What...” His brow furrowed, there was something at the edge of his mind telling him that he was right, that this was what he had been dreading, hoping for –_remember, remember, remember- _“What does the stuff you’re seeing look like?”

“It looks like ghostly flames,” she murmured, and that _something_ from the Hospital Wing rose up in interest. “Like lilac coloured, whispy flames all over your body, and especially concentrated around your heart.” Harry made a move to wipe it away, but Luna held him fast. “Wait, don’t do that, Harry. What if-”

“Oh.” Ginny said, and she looked about to be sick. “If whatever this stuff is, is keeping parts of you looking different, then if there’s a lot near your heart-”

“I won’t.” Harry immediately assured them. “I –I fucking hate it now that I know, but I’ll leave it. At least until we can get a little more figured out.” He still couldn’t see or feel whatever it was Luna did, but the relief on her face made the promise worth it. He could deal with the ugly crawling sensation of eyes on him for a little while longer. “If this all started in June, then my –my dreams are catching up quick. If I’m really remembering stuff, even if it’s from some other person, we should have an answer soon. Hermione,” his friend jumped a little and wiped at her eyes, and Harry felt awful. “I don’t know if your parents would be up for it, but could you write to them, ask them to look into the Momoda and the Momokyou-kai a bit? There should be _something_ they can scrounge up, even if it’s just a mention of whether they’re real or not. I can –I can remind you so you don’t forget.”

“Yes, of course I will.”

“Thanks,” Harry realized he was still holding hands with Luna, but it didn’t feel embarrassing like it might have once in the past. There was something warm under her skin that made him itch all the way up to the roots of his hair, but it was a good sensation. It felt grounding.

_Vvv_

_“There is simply no way we can allow a non-Guardian to compete,” the Cervello said, an apologetic tint to her expression. It had been obvious from the get-go that rather than **siding** with Xanxus’ faction, they were being terrorized by the Varia into acquiescing instead. Hanato had gleaned they used to be an extremely secretive group under the Vongola Ninth, but the current head of CEDEF had done some remodelling several years ago and rid them of a lot of problems, even integrated them onto a proper CEDEF rotation. “Bovino Lambo is the chosen Ring Bearer.”_

_Hanato thought about that for a moment, and caught the woman’s eye from behind her dark glasses –she tilted her head just slightly, and he followed the direction to where Gola Mosca was looming, silent as the grave. His fingers were still smoking from when he’d launched bullets at the Varia Sun, Lussuria, and a lightbulb went off above his head._

_“Then I must demand you disqualify Gola Mosca from the battles, Cervello-sama,” He said formally, and the field went so quiet you could hear a pin drop._

_“Elaborate, please,” she requested._

_“If that guy is **ever** gonna Harmonize with the Varia Captain over there, I’ll cut my little finger off, because I don’t think Mosca-san is even a real person,” Hanato folded his arms and subtly shifted in front of Nayoshi and his group of friends, even Reborn, just in case the Varia lost it in outrage. “There is no precedent for a **robot** to be a Guardian. If the Varia want to offer proof Mosca-san is a sentient being, like, by all means. But if not, then I must demand he be cut from the battle list and forfeit his half of the ring to the Vongola Cloud. **Or**, both he and I be allowed to participate as a proxy, in consideration for the Vongola Lightning Guardian’s age and an absent Varia Cloud Officer.” Hanato knew that Nayoshi was gaping at him in shock, and in the ringing silence he added, sardonically, “Additionally, I at least have precedent for this; I **was** the original candidate for the Lightning position, but my status as the heir to my family prevented me from accepting.”_

_The Cervello gathered together and spent a few minutes discussing their course of action –it was obvious that the Varia would not take kindly to their Cloud ring being forfeited, even if they would almost certainly gain the Lightning ring should Lambo compete. Xanxus di Vongola looked increasingly murderous with each passing second, the grip on his holstered gun creaking ominously in the quiet schoolyard. Finally, the members separated and a different woman from before came forward to give their verdict._

_“We have made the decision in regard to the Lightning Guardian’s age, to allow Momoda Hanato, heir to the Momo Yakuza Organization, to compete as a proxy in his place. Gola Mosca will also be allowed to compete, as the proxy for the recently deceased Varia Cloud Officer.” The Cervello woman paused for a moment, as if to give Hanato a moment to retract his demands. “The Lightning Ring battle will therefore commence tomorrow night at 2030 hours.”_

_The Cervello vacated the field soon after, with Xanxus and most of his entourage storming out in their wake; Gola Mosca himself picked up the battered and bloody Lussuria just before the entire boxing ring came crashing down. The only one who didn’t leave immediately was Levi A. Than, who glared coldly in Lambo’s direction before he stalked over to Hanato._

_“I hope you don’t regret taking over for the brat, Yakuza,” he said, towering over Hanato. “It will be an actual disgrace now, when you lose, as opposed to their plain disgrace of a Guardian.”_

_“Unlike your boss, Nayoshi will not condemn me if I fail. He knows what loyalty really is.” Hanato straightened up from his slouch and met Levi’s glare head-on –if he could take out Muroto Zenmei, then he had a chance of at least putting up a good fight against this man. “You had an easy win on your hands, before. Now there’s a high chance you’ll end up crippled.”_

_Vvv_

“So you really still remember?”

Ginny nodded, and Harry was so relieved he could cry. Luna had suggested they retry the test for their friends when Ron pointed out that Harry’s scar kept flickering back and forth in his vision in the days since it all came to light. It now seemed that once someone _knew_ about the effects that the fire had, they could somewhat see through it –and this included being able to remember Harry even when they weren’t in his immediate presence. Apparently the flames coating his body were doing more than altering his appearance; they must have been the actual _cause _of the strange memory modification as well.

Luna didn’t know much about the flames even though she could see them, because her family never let themselves get too involved in the places and people who _really_ utilized them. When Hermione prompted her, interested in why not, Luna told them it was because if the fire progressed past a certain point you could lose your ability to use magic altogether; no one could use both magic and the fully developed fire at the same time.

“You can’t split your soul that way,” she said firmly, which was a very ominous line in light of what Harry learnt Voldemort had done to himself. Luna knew a few more basics in how magic and the fire differed from each other, some of which made a ping go off in Harry’s brain like he was –well, he now _knew_ that he was –supposed to know this already. Magic was a lot more versatile in that everyone could learn practically any spell they wanted, but you had to be born with the ability. The flames on the other hand were split into different categories, but could be trained and used by anyone who had the resolve to bring them out. While magic didn’t really grow stronger in relation to the wizard’s body, the flames were very much tied up with physical training, and had to be actively coaxed into progressing most of the time –hence why Luna could keep the Sight and not lose her magic.

“Also, fire users don’t segregate themselves like wizards do,” Luna expounded upon prompting; they were holed up in the Come and Go Room, compiling everything they knew about Harry’s situation while they waited for a response from Hermione’s parents. It was just Harry, Luna, Ginny and Neville until Ron and Hermione were done with their Prefect meeting. “It’s another reason my mother’s family always stayed separate from them –she was the first who wasn’t caught up in the Pureblood mindset –and they knew that fire users are entrenched in the proper Muggle world, not just a different version of the Wizarding World.”

“How come more Muggles don’t know about them, then?” Neville asked. “If they don’t keep to themselves, I mean.”

“_La Omert__à di Fiamme._” Harry said, suddenly, and he had the entire concept just at his fingertips. “You only talk about it with people who are in the know, or who gain the ability. And any who gain it are brought in immediately on pain of the _Vindice_.” He didn’t know what that _was_, but the word sent shivers down his spine all the same. “It _can _happen accidentally outside of the community, but it’s rare, and much easier when there’s other... fire actives? –nearby. And... oh, that makes sense. Most people can’t even see the flames unless they can use them themselves. It’s not like magic.”

“Wait, Omerta like the Mafia?” Ginny asked.

“Well, that _is _who they are, primarily.” Luna confirmed, which tracked with Harry dreaming of a fire using Yakuza group, at least.

“Er –wait, Omertà isn’t the same as this,” Harry protested. “In the Mafia, it violates Omertà if you talk about the organization to a cop or other law enforcement type with the intent to reveal secrets, betray your boss, stuff like that. It isn’t just _talking_ about it with people who aren’t a part of it –otherwise how would you recruit or do deals with crooked agents? It’s got nuance and a bit of give here and there. _La Omert__à di Fiamme’s _more...” Harry gestured with his hands, momentarily at a loss for how to describe it, before he stopped and realized that he had just plain _stopped remembering _the rest. God he hated this.

“It’s got a _different_ nuance to it,” Luna finished. “Otherwise my family wouldn’t be able to live apart from it, if they just treated all flame users with the same policies.”

That sounded right, Harry guessed, so he made a noise in agreement. He was about to suggest that they do another test, see exactly when some of their classmates started to forget him at what distance or some such, when the door to the room opened and Ron stuck his head in. Harry waved, then paused; his friend did _not _look happy, and made a motion for Harry to go over and speak with him.

“It’s... well,” Ron snuck a glance out the door behind his back, and then squared his shoulders. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Merlin, can’t believe I’m saying this. It’s Malfoy, Harry. He wants to _speak _with you.”

“_What?_” Harry jerked back and then tried to get around his friend to open the door, but Ron used his superior height to loom into his line of sight. Harry huffed at being blocked, and said only half seriously, “Who are you and what have you done with Ron?”

Ron snorted. “Trust me, I had Hermione check already. This isn’t a compulsion or anything.” He could obviously tell that Harry didn’t believe him, because he sighed and scrubbed at the back of his neck; his ears turned bright red and he looked like he was deeply regretting whatever decisions had brought him to this point. “Look, this ain’t my idea of a good time, either, I just... you remember what you said to him a few weeks ago? About being a collabo?”

“Couldn’t forget _that,_” Harry frowned.

“Well I think he’s considering it. Getting out, that is,” Ron nodded at Harry’s shocked expression. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But then he said something _weirder_. See, he came up to me after the Prefect meeting, and I just couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t go to you in the first place if he was just gonna talk to me about _this_. When I asked, he says, ‘if this doesn’t work out, you’ll just forget about it anyway’.”

“So he knows.” Harry felt the blood rush to his ears, which seemed to happen a lot whenever Malfoy was involved. He wondered if the reaction was just instinctual by now or if this was something the fire was causing as well.

“At least. What do you wanna do?”

Ron gently touched Harry’s elbow, and with a spark of yellow across his vision Harry felt himself calm a little. He took a breath and really _thought _about it; but honestly, what else could he do? “I’ll talk with him. Would you stick around, though?”

“O’course.”

“Good. Ginny! Luna, Neville!” Harry got his friends’ attention and walked back over to the couches. “Sorry, but would you mind if Ron and I used the Room to talk with someone? It looks like it’ll be a sensitive topic.”

It only took a few minutes for everyone to clear out –Ron suggested they go back to the Common Room, where Hermione was sorting out a feud between two third years –and then Ron left to go grab Malfoy from where he’d stashed him inside an empty classroom. Harry thought about it, and the Room changed to accommodate him; now it was less than half of its usual cavernous size, and beside the still smouldering fire was a set up not unlike the informal meeting rooms from his dreams. There was a low table with two couches on either side, some writing implements on the table along with a sheaf of blank paper, and, Harry noticed, a sword just underneath the table on one side.

This was the side Harry chose to sit on.

Malfoy looked harried and sick when he entered the room, not even the warm glow from the fire doing much to change it; he actually _jumped _when he noticed Harry staring at him from the couch, and with an internal sigh Harry found he could see why Ron hadn’t just turned the Slytherin away without pause. Ron closed the door again with a resounding click of the lock, and hesitated before he gave Malfoy a light shove on one shoulder toward the table.

Malfoy straightened and glared at Ron, and even though it was lacking the usual _something _it let a bit of his normal self peek through, and for some reason that made Harry relax in turn. He strode over and sat on the couch opposite, shoulders thrown back defiantly, and Ron padded along quietly behind him and leaned on the armrest of Harry’s couch.

“So, you want out,” Harry said without preamble. Malfoy gained a green tint to his skin, but nodded all the same, and crossed his arms tightly. “Why should I believe an apparent turncoat? My words managed to pierce your skull _this _time when Voldemort being a grade-A asshole for our entire lives didn’t? I don’t buy it.”

“Well it’s –it’s the truth,” Malfoy spat. “If you won’t look past your Gryffindor pigheadedness, that’s not-”

“Hey, you came to me,” Harry leaned forward and caught the other boy’s eye. “You’re the only one here’s been thinking this through, and then you sprung it on us. Remember what I said, Malfoy? _Give me a reason._”

Malfoy swallowed thickly, and broke their staring contest to stare down at his knees; after a minute passed, he shivered and tightened his arms against his chest even further. “You _gave_ me an out, okay? That’s why!” Malfoy hunched in on himself a little and he started working himself up into a tizzy. “All this time, everyone around me just –assumed this was what I was meant to do, that I want to _die_ for his crusade. Well, I don’t! But where was I supposed to go if I refused him? He’s in my _house_, Potter! My parents are _his_ and my friends’ parents along with them, and if Dumbledore sent you back to your Muggle _family _with the Dark Lord at large then by Merlin I was sure he wasn’t going to help _me!_”

Malfoy stopped then, and seemed a little ill at how much he had revealed about his thought process. Harry shared a glance with Ron and was surprised to see his friend looked _sympathetic _toward the Slytherin, although again he could understand why.

“I’m the first person to offer to help you?”

“...my godfather tried. But then they made me take the Mark, and he stopped.” Malfoy shifted the arm back, like he could feel Harry’s gaze on it even while he was staring at the table. “I know by now that –my parents are his, through and through, and they wouldn’t risk running even if I managed to get them to listen to me. But I’m not that prideful anymore, I swear –I’d even hide among Mu –Muggles if I had to.”

Harry hummed and leaned on the back of the couch, and let the silence stretch for a minute or two. Malfoy’s posture only got more rigid, even in the little hunch he’d fallen into after his confession.

“Tell me one more thing, Malfoy.” He received a sharp nod in reply, and something in Harry’s chest pulsed with satisfaction. “Why is it you can remember me when no one else can?”

Malfoy flinched back so violently that his feet lifted off the ground, and the expression on his face was wide-eyed and bleak with terror; he made a move like he was going to stand up and bolt from the room, but in the next second Harry had already lurched forward. By the time Malfoy was getting to push himself up, Harry had grasped the hilt of the sword and swung it up and around to point directly in the Slytherin’s face, the sharp tip only a few centimetres away from one of Malfoy’s grey eyes.

“Move a step and I’ll kill you,” Harry murmured. He was acutely aware that Ron somehow hadn’t deigned to react to any of this, and despite the fact he only barely remembered the last time he used a sword it still felt _right_ in his hands. “Willing to leave the lot of them, but not talk about this? How shameful.”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry! I’ll tell you!” Malfoy raised his hands wide, and for a moment Harry was struck by the incongruousness of his old rival’s behaviour. Malfoy had shown instances of cowardice and a spine of jelly in the past, but he also had a certain reckless confidence about him that overrode that on more than one occasion. Had Harry ever done this in the past –threatened his life without a way for him to defend himself –he wouldn’t have guessed that the other boy would immediately back down and show his throat. “It was instinct! You –You’re not supposed to _know!_”

“_Tell_ _me_.”

“There was a wizard –a weird one, he could only cast certain types of spells, and he worked for the Dark Lord!” Malfoy’s eyes nearly crossed in his attempt to keep his full gaze on the sharp sword tip near his face. “Back in June, they needed both you and Longbottom at the Department of Mysteries for some reason, so he –he used his weird magic to get you there! I only know because my Father was... he was there, on the Dark Lord’s orders.” Now Malfoy was shaking, and he looked as pale as a ghost even in the yellow fire light. “You –You weren’t supposed to live, after that night. But you _did _and the one who cast the spell _didn’t_, and it persisted. Somehow it kept going and –and the Dark Lord made me take the Mark so I could –so I could get him into the school, so he could kill you and Longbottom and Dumbledore all.”

“So all this time you’ve known, you’ve been antagonizing Harry while planning a _Death_ _Eater_ _raid_?” Ron asked, with the appropriate level of incredulity.

“It... it affects me too, the spell,” Malfoy gulped. “I –I know about it, but if I don’t pay attention I forget and get dragged into it. I don’t know how it _works._”

Harry lowered the sword, and Malfoy collapsed onto the couch with his head in his hands.

“What’s this wizard’s name? The one who cast the spell?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know, I only ever knew his signature –his letters were half rambling nonsense, whenever they got to the Manor at all. It was something like B.C. and either a J. or an I.” Malfoy shrugged but didn’t lift his head. “It isn’t as if he had a funeral or a gravestone. And this stupid spell isn’t making it any easier to figure out what’s true and what isn’t.”

“Well, we’re on the same page in this, at least.” Harry murmured. He sat down and placed the sword on the table in front of him, where Malfoy could see. “Alright, Malfoy. I’ll help you.”

“_What?_”

“But,” here Harry smiled, but by the way Malfoy blanched it was just as unnerving as he meant it to look, sharp and shaded by that something else lurking in his head. “In return, you’ve got to help me with something first.”

Vvv

_The roof was flooded in the downpour, and only getting worse. Hanato arrived with Nayoshi’s pack of middle schoolers and listened with half an ear to their exclamations about the lightning rods and the complicated electric circuit that would be running underneath their feet during the fight. When a bolt of lightning struck the setup in a blaze of electricity and the crashing boom of thunder, he ignored the kids’ shock and worry, and instead met the gaze of Levi A. Than across the arena, and flipped him the bird._

_The dramatic lighting didn’t make it any less hilarious to see Levi’s lip curl back in affront._

_“Alrighty, time to get this show on the road,” Hanato let Sasagawa drag him into the group pep-shout and felt a little better about his prospects despite himself. “Hey, Nayoshi.”_

_“Aniki?” _

_Hanato scuffed at Nayoshi’s hair and wanted to tell him a lot of things before this probable death match. That he was still sorry over letting him down during Kokuyo, that he wished he could’ve introduced him to his uncle, that he knew going into this what it might bring. He wanted to bare his self loathing tendencies and how he was proud of what Nayoshi had accomplished even if the kid didn’t want to be involved, he wanted to take the time to show Nayoshi that being an heir wasn’t all terror and bloodshed like this was making it out to be. But instead, what he settled for was, “I’ve left a copy of my will with the shitty tutor, if things go south.”_

_Nayoshi went white and tried to say something, but Hanato stepped back and onto the grid system, ready to give this his all and hope he didn’t come out of it a stiff. The Cervello was marking the start of the match, and almost immediately another burst of lightning came crashing down into the main rod, which forced Hanato to jump so he could dodge it._

_“Okay,” Hanato breathed, testing out his range of motion against Levi’s. Their spaces mirrored each other’s, wary of getting too close too fast. But Hanato couldn’t just wait for the other man to set up whatever crazy moves he used, especially when Lightning flames weren’t exactly his strong suit without **help**, so he rushed in._

_Levi tried to retreat, but he was probably mostly a long range fighter because he stumbled slightly on a large wire underneath his feet, which gave Hanato the opportunity he was looking for. He coated his arm with Rain flames and made to punch the Varia officer, but the man dodged at the last moment, and regained his footing quickly. It was probably too much to hope that the Varia allowed any of their Officers to have quite so glaring a deficiency as close quarter combat._

_Hanato stepped forward and threw out his other arm to cage Levi in, and then swept down to try and trip his legs out –Levi jumped over them and used one of his strange umbrellas to pivot in the air, and dropped back down on the other side of Hanato’s arm. He tried to recover with a modified strike from his crouched position, but the other man was too fast and he had to scramble up in order to follow him across the grid of wires. Levi used his umbrella to block several more blows as Hanato came at him faster and directed flames down to his legs as well, so that even a nick would pulse a whole whallop of flames into his system_

_Finally after a few minutes of forcing the man against the edge of the circuit, Hanato heard a shout from Nayoshi and backed off so the both of them could jump to avoid the current. In the split second of extra time that jump bought him, he propelled himself forward and socked Levi in the chin, and felt a brief stab of satisfaction before he was sent crashing back by an answering punch to his cheek._

_“I knew what you were trying to do from the start, Yakuza,” Levi sneered and only barely missed when he tried to stab Hanato with the end of his umbrella when Hanato rolled out of the way and onto his feet. “That won’t work.”_

_Hanato’s main strength was in his Rain flames, and the way he used them was to funnel them into his limbs and ‘inject’ his opponent as they fought. If it hit his opponent, like with Muroto, he could knock them unconscious, slow their limbs, even stop their heart depending on the location of the hit and how much, while if he tried to do the same thing with his weaker Lightning flames, it barely felt like a bee sting to the other person. It was a limiting way to fight, to be sure –he basically had the opposite problem to Gokudera, without any sustainable way to attack long range. Levi was probably employing some kind of Lightning ‘Hardening’ trick to prevent Hanato’s flames from entering his body, either that or he had enough of a familiarity with the effects to immediately counter it. _

_“Didn’t know until I tried,” Hanato said, and jumped again as another lightning bolt came down from the sky. He would probably have a minute or two until the next one, so he stopped in his tracks and to the confusion of everyone watching, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops of his pants. With one end in each hand he closed his eyes and reached down into himself, into the nerves of his limbs and the hollows from his infancy and the will within his heart, and he grasped his flames like a vice. “Guess I’ll have to use **this**.”_

_Unlike Gokudera, though, Hanato had addressed his main deficiency last year, and in doing so had developed two techniques, both long range, which made direct use of his Lightning flames. As Levi paused in confusion, probably trying to feel out what he was doing before he came closer for an attack, Hanato directed his Rain flames to his legs and feet, to coat and ground him as he took the necessary time to ‘charge’ his first technique. He didn’t like using it very often, if only because he hadn’t progressed to the point yet where it didn’t leave him vulnerable while he got it ready._

_Levi approached, snarling something about ‘letting his guard down’, but as Hanato had figured, before he got too close another crash of lightning came and hit the lightning rod. Levi jumped, but Hanato stayed rooted to the spot, and when the sensation of being electrified hit him, he groaned out in agony through his clenched teeth, even as he funnelled every last bit of energy into his hungry flames._

_He knew what it looked like to Nayoshi, from the anguished cry that the kid let out –if there hadn’t been the storm, the lightning rods to amplify it, Hanato would’ve used the charging time to channel his Rain flames into feeding his Lightning and grow them naturally, if temporarily, but this set up took less time even with twice the risk. He dimly heard the Cervello talk about checking that he was still alive, while Levi dismissed the chance and assumed he was already dead, which –that was exactly what he needed. Just a smidge more... time..._

_“There,” Hanato breathed, and opened his eyes to the shocked expressions of everyone around him. He knew his eyes were shining bright blue right now, as he shoved the last bit of Rain flames he had into maintaining Concentration, so he could manifest what he needed to._

_“What?!” Levi made a furious sound and drew his umbrellas, while Hanato put his hands out in front of him._

_Painstakingly, he held the belt with his left had and placed his right palm around the leather loosely, and then he dragged **down **the length of it and **pulled**. His flames, overactive now with the shot of lightning directly into his body, only the barest of Rain layering to soften the blow, didn’t come quietly. As he dragged them out of his skin and into the belt, Lightning flames flashed and sparked, pulsed in places and then thinned out when they wanted to be uncooperative again, until finally they snapped free with a high buzz and crackle._

_The energy coating the belt was dotted with bright balls of light connected by flexible ropes of energy of various lengths, the whole thing made of Lightning flames with little whisps of Rain here and there to stabilize it. Hanato had bled and sweated for weeks, months, just trying to learn how to fight with the belt on its own, and he grasped an end with each hand in a mirror of those sessions with his uncle as he faced Levi completely._

_“Bead Lightning,” He pronounced, an odd sonorous tone to his voice he didn’t hear very often –at least he knew he was in a position to use this to its full potential, if it cooperated. “Al**right**!”_

_With a smooth movement, Hanato thrust his right arm towards his opponent as if he was skipping a rock across water, and let go of the left end of the belt so it whipped forward. Levi jumped back to avoid it, and as he did the Bead Lightning stretched an extra few feet from the tail end and struck him in the chest. He seized instantly and fell to his knees, and he glared at Hanato with hatred as he panted harshly._

_“Don’t stand out more than me,” Levi growled as he stood up, almost none the worse for wear. Hanato’s technique wasn’t going to hurt him yet._

_“I am not the Lightning Guardian, so you don’t have to worry, **Varia**,” Hanato grabbed each end of the belt and took a stance with his feet wide and the Bead Lightning held so it passed close to his forehead. He felt the steady drain from the technique, but he also felt the **potential**, and that if he held on a little longer, he might be able to pull this off. He pushed forward, and threw his Bead Lightning out again to try and make this work, just to get one hit in that would do what he **knew** it could. “Just know, if this continues I’ll have no choice but to take you out!”_

_“You’re too confident,” Levi flung his hands out, and his umbrellas shot out to surround Hanato from the air. As the Bead Lightning struck him in the legs, Levi buckled slightly, but the umbrellas still opened and charged with a large amount of electricity from the surrounding storm, and all of that hit Hanato at once._

_“Guaaah!” Hanato reared back and took his construct with him, and when he landed on the ground in a heap the technique flickered and sputtered like a dying candle. He had only just managed to reroute his Rain flames around his heart so it kept going, but the rest of him felt like a piece of beef tongue left on the grill too long. When he pushed himself up off of the floor, unsteady on his feet, one of Levi’s umbrellas shot towards him and impaled him in the shoulder, and he fell again._

_“I’ll kill you slowly, so I’m sure you’re dead,” Levi advanced on him, and Hanato blindly reached for the belt, for the space behind the scar on his forehead and the shock it had taken at the Varia Officer’s attack. “And just for the fun, I’ll slice you into steak cuts.”_

_“Not... yet...” Hanato grunted and sat up. His Bead Lightning crackled faintly in his hands, gone equally blue and green with his two different flame types, and he grinned at Levi with blood in his teeth. “You wanna know... what I’ve been doing all this time, Levi of the Varia? If you don’t want to hear it with your own ears... you’d better kill me right now!”_

_“With pleasure!” Levi yelled, and when his umbrellas opened once more, he had barely let the lightning strikes go before Hanato was on his feet and received them in earnest._

_The Bead Lightning clutched in his hands surged to an incredibe degree, twice the size it was before and violently green with bright, shining pulses of blue at the centre of its many ‘beads’. Hanato’s eyes were eclipsed by the blaze of blue light inside them, which moved to saturate his hair and even give a faint blue glow to his teeth, macabre against the dark blood. The skin on his hands where he held fast to the belt had begun to shred and bleed, and Hanato let out a prolonged, guttural moan of pain even as his now pupil-less gaze fixed on Levi. When he whipped the Bead Lightning around, it went so fast that it collided unimpeded with the side of Levi’s head and shattered into pieces._

_There was silence for a moment, and then Levi seized violently. His entire body arched as if being shocked by electricity, and then he fell to his knees and vomited onto the floor, and before anyone could move he began coughing up blood and screamed in pain far louder than any he’d let out before. He keeled over and fell onto his side –when his face revealed itself, there were already bruises forming all across his skin while his eyes rolled up into the back of his head._

_“Vongola Secondo... was said to have such flame mastery... that he fused Sky and Storm and created the Flames of Wrath! He’s always fascinated me...” Hanato walked forward to get closer to his downed opponent, and gave a short, hysterical laugh as something in his shoulder creaked around the metal spike thrust through it. He bit down a scream of agony and focused on his steps. “So I thought... why not do it myself? Surely an approximation... could be found. And I did... even though it only works every so often...”_

_The Varia hadn’t moved from where they stood a little further back from the arena, and for some reason Hanato found himself speaking to Levi, though the man was either unconscious or currently experiencing the side effect of his attack –an ear-splitting, internal noise that would eventually cause damage to his hearing, that Hanato had named the technique after when he’d first manifested it._

_“Rain and Lightning... I call ‘em Flames of Thunder, Levi A. Than,” Hanato swayed and found himself on his knees a few feet from the Varia Officer he’d defeated. “You’re the first... I’ve used ‘em against... hope they didn’t disappoint.”_

_And then Hanato let black take over his vision, and fell forward onto the concrete next to Levi, completely unconscious and drained of everything he had._

Vvv

Something in Harry cracked and reformed after a particularly bad night.

Until then, Harry was unable to remember even half of what he dreamt about, and it felt right to have even that much. He was degenerating, sure, but he knew now it was because someone wanted to keep him cooped up in Hogwarts and away from whatever he was uncovering about this other boy’s life, or his life –whatever it was, however it had happened. Until then, Harry had mostly been able to keep himself to himself during his waking hours and put it into the background, and though speaking of the little he gained out of the deluge of information made him sad, angry, helpless, he _did_ gain something from it. The dreams were warm, and comforting to think about generally, and made sense even if they were fucking up his life at the same time.

This though, this was awful like nothing else.

Harry woke up slowly, like he was submerged in molasses, his eyes swimming with tears and his ears full of cotton. He only knew he was awake because he could feel the bed underneath him, otherwise he was still consumed by what he was seeing. What he couldn’t _stop_ seeing.

He’d never dreamt of the future before.

Harry dies when he is seventeen, and defeats Voldemort hours later. He becomes an Auror at eighteen, but is in St. Mungo’s by the time he turns twenty. When he gets released, he runs from Britain to Italy without looking back.

Nayoshi, so young and already the head of his family, takes him in. Not because he really remembers him, but because his flames still do and he trusts his instincts more than he trusts his eyes. A year later and Nayoshi begins to regain some of it, but by then the Millefiore are making their move.

They hit Japan first, the birthplace of the Vongola Tenth, and with their leader’s strange abilities they know exactly who to target. Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, the Sasagawa and Miura families, and the Momokyou-kai. By the time Italy gets word it is too late.

Harry wouldn’t wish what comes between then and the final battle on anyone.

Before the battle, after Nayoshi promises to get him out but before he actually _wins_, Harry speaks quietly with the Giglio Nero Boss, Yuni. She has heard, somehow, of what he has asked Nayoshi to do, and even though he can never deserve her offer, she makes it all the same. Her abilities are fantastical, even for Magic, especially for Flames, and when Harry grudgingly tells her of what he has suffered at the hands of both, she insists.

_ “If you put it all into my head at once, I’m going to go mad again.” He eventually says, and instead of looking at the tiny girl in front of him he can’t help but glare right back at Gamma, who has his hackles raised just behind Yuni’s right shoulder. He has to focus all of his remaining intent on his Lightning flames, their pull even worse now that the camp is full of people, full of **Skies**, at that, because without the tempering presence of Isami... no, he can’t think about Isami right now. “I remember being sane, I **liked** it. I can’t crack, if Nayoshi doesn’t –if he **can’t** get me out of there. If I let you do this, you have to promise me you’ll stagger it... I have to be able to **live**.”_

_“I will do my best, Momoda-san,” She says with the same quiet conviction that Nayoshi gets whenever he’s serious about something. The thought aches in his chest, and he’s overtaken for a moment by the memories of his little brother’s funeral, only the latest in a long string of deaths and MIAs, before he shakes it away. He hates the way Yuni looks at him, like she knows exactly what he’s thinking and how she can make it better. “Your memories are in good hands, I promise you. And regardless of whether I live or die,” Another fucking kid talking about death, he hates the way this world has become, hates the Millefiore, goddamn bastards- “I will do this. No one deserves to suffer, and if I can ease your burden then I shall do it with my Dying Will.”_

And things clicked in Hanato’s mind, and next he knew he was in the bathroom, emptying his stomach.

Hanato wanted to scream, but he forced himself to remain quiet until he was dressed and out of the portrait hole, until he was halfway up the staircase, until he had slammed the door to the Come and Go room behind him and locked it tighter than the lowest cells in the Vindicare prison.

“Fuck...” He couldn’t stop them now, couldn’t hold them back anymore. He wasn’t crazy, he _wasn’t crazy_, but right now, feeling this way, it would have been better if he was.

“Memories!” He sobbed. Memories, memories, these _were_ memories! His mother and father, Mio, Isami, Nayoshi and the Momokyou-kai and Wakatoshi and-

“Real.” He breathed. “Real. They’re _real._”

And then he passed out.

Vvv

Hanato woke up in spurts, unaware of where he was or how he got there. Each time he remembered less and less of those horrible scenes that had plagued him through the night, and each period of lucidity brought with it a sense of alarm that he was losing the information.

Hanato made himself stay awake long enough to grab a bit of charcoal from the fireplace to his left before he was pulled back under again and the world went dark.

When Harry woke up once more, this time with full coherency, he had no clue what had happened to him. His body was sore like he’d been running a marathon, there was soot smudged across his fingers, and when he turned his head to see what time it was, his watch informed him it was six in the evening.

Harry got to his feet and several spots on his back cracked something awful, and his nails were absolutely caked in grime.

“Ugh, what did I do to myself?” Harry mumbled, wiping the black substance onto his pant leg to little avail. He glared at the fireplace dubiously, and froze in surprise at what he saw instead.

Smudged into the floor like he’d tried to carve it into the stone tiles, a little obscured by the scattered ash and soot that he had apparently pulled from the grate, was just one word.

_Memories._

Harry was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.


	6. Chapter 6

When Tsuna went down to the shopping district to get some ingredients for dinner, it was like a lightning bolt struck his head as he caught sight of Momoda Sakurai across the road. Something clicked, and he felt awful that he’d let this go on so long –how had he let it come to almost a _month_ without contact?

“Ah, pardon, Momoda-san!”

Tsuna waved at the Yakuza Kumichō, admittedly a _lot_ intimidated by the prospect of speaking with him, but he had been welcoming the only time he had ever met him and he was suddenly consumed with _worry_ about Hanato’s condition. Somehow, with all the craziness that had crashed down around the end of the Sky bout during the Ring Battles, Hanato must have slipped back to the hospital and then later on to his home without checking in with them at all. Tsuna remembered thinking it was strange, just after –Reborn had looked at him oddly when he mused about going to visit him, and he could take a hint about giving people space, he _could_ –but then again he knew his ‘older brother’ and how he must’ve felt after his draw against Levi.

His brother had less than healthy habits when it came to letting people down, and the amount of time he’d gone now without communication was a sure sign that he was slipping back into that. Tsuna would only tolerate so much before he decided to intervene, unless Hanato really was handling it okay and just busy with his duties as his own family’s heir. But now that Momoda Sakurai was right _here_, Tsuna could ask!

The Kumichō paused, and obligingly waited for Tsuna to catch up. Despite himself, Tsuna noticed the man a few paces to his side stop as well, and thought he might have seen him in passing –Kumogai-san? –but he didn’t want to dwell too much.

“Sorry for calling out unexpectedly,” Tsuna tried to put on an air of confidence, but by the quizzical expression on Sakurai’s face he must not have succeeded very well. Regardless, Tsuna was on a mission. “I just wanted to ask how Hana-aniki is doing? We haven’t heard from him since everything last month.”

For a moment, Hanato’s father looked like he didn’t know what to think, and then he huffed out a laugh. “I’m sorry, son. I think you have me mistaken for someone.”

Tsuna frowned and straightened up a bit. “But I don’t? You’re Hana-aniki’s father, I _met _you.” The Yakuza Kumichō raised an eyebrow, not an ounce of recognition on his face, only faint amusement at Tsuna’s surety. “You’re _Momoda Sakurai_, aren’t you?”

The man nodded at that, at least. “I am, but I don’t know any Hana.” He looked back at Kumogai, and the other Yakuza handed over a card, which Sakurai then passed to Tsuna. “I apologize for the mix up, son. I have to get back to my family, but if you need anything, give us a call, alright?”

Tsuna accepted the card with a pole-axed expression on his face, and just _let_ Hanato’s father walk off, Kumogai offering him a short bow in the Kumichō’s wake. The business card was generic, listing the civilian side of the Momokyou-kai’s business and a phone number, nothing else.

“Reborn,” Tsuna asked when he returned home, the business card crumpled in his sweaty hands. Something was wrong, Hanato’s father didn’t recognize him, didn’t know what he was talking about at _all. _“Do you know the name Momoda Hanato?”

Reborn should’ve given him a withering look for such a stupid question –he had met and been cussed at by Hanato several times, and been left in a strangely good mood from the interactions when they hadn’t involved Hanato fighting or causing Tsuna distress. He would have even liked a kick to the head and a demand that Tsuna ‘quit it with the brother-worship’, which, Tsuna did _not _worship his older brother, he looked up to him, nothing more.

But Reborn instead looked contemplative. “You mentioned him after the Ring Battles, didn’t you? The Momoda are the main line of the family that established the Momokyou-kai in Namimori. I wasn’t aware there was someone named Hanato among them.” He levelled Tsuna with a curious, but still uncomprehending look. “Why? Have they given you any trouble?”

There must have been something in Tsuna’s expression, because Reborn sat up from his hammock, suddenly serious.

“Tsuna, what is it?” he demanded.

“Something’s not right,” Tsuna held his head as it gave a sharp ache, like it had been doing every so often since his fight against Xanxus. He thought it was just the fact he was still recovering from his over exertion, but now- “Why don’t you remember him? What’s going _on_?”

Vvv

“Anata, Raku’s on line two.”

Sakurai looked up from the financial report at his wife and smiled, accepted the cordless and a kiss when she walked in from the hallway. Worries over her health and the family’s future seemed so far away now that Mio’s third month had passed safely. He pushed his paperwork off to the side and greeted his nephew while Sunako left the room, glad to hear Raku sounding well with how busy he’d been the last half year.

“I was beginning to think you were getting too important to call, Rakkun,” he teased, “You haven’t visited in awhile, either.”

“I’ll never get to thinking I’m some big shot, Ojisan. It wasn’t by choice, I can _assure _you!” Raku laughed large, like a man twice his size, and it warmed Sakurai to hear it. Issei was always a little more lackadaisical than he thought proper, but until recently he didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to parenting styles; Mio would turn out strong and willful, just as Kiku would have if they hadn’t lost him so soon. “You’ve been busy, too! Are Obasan and Mi-chan still in good health?”

“Better than, thank goodness.” Sakurai had never known relief like this. “Of course, until six months have passed we’ll be keeping a sharp eye out, but things are on track so far.”

“I’m glad.”

“And you? I know you’ve been swamped lately, no thanks to Issei,” On the other end of the phone, Raku snorted.

“Everyone’s patient with me, especially Chitoge. All that’s left is to plan the wedding proper –I’m sure Hana’s been itching for a solid date since he found out I popped the question...”

Sakurai froze and only half heard the rest of what Raku was rambling on about, that _name_ from a few weeks ago resurfacing once more but now from the mouth of someone he actually _knew._ “I’m sorry, Rakkun, but who was that you just mentioned?”

Confusion was clear in Raku’s voice when he answered. “_Hanato_, Ojisan? You _know _ever since he met Chitoge he’s been invested in when we’re going to get on with the ceremony.” Raku paused to huff in amusement. “A closet romantic if I ever saw one. I shudder to think how Hana’ll embarrass Mio when she starts dating. With a brother like him... Ojisan?”

Sakurai had dropped the phone, an emotion he couldn’t name coursing through him at further mention of this boy named Hanato being his _son_. In the shopping district, that young man hadn’t pushed it too hard, but initially he’d been so _sure _that Sakurai knew both him and his ‘Hana-aniki’. The teen had looked so thrown off at his denial at the time, that Sakurai hadn’t pursued the issue.

Now Raku –his nephew, newly appointed Kumichō of his family, who had never been one for fibs and had no way of knowing that other young man –now he too was positive that Sakurai should know this Hanato. He was basically saying that Hanato _was_ his son, that he had introduced him to Chitoge, that Sakurai was supposed to know things about this person but he _didn’t_-

“Raku... I think something may be wrong.” Sakurai said with false calm, and could practically feel Raku’s churning Sun flames through the phone line. “I hate to ask this of you, but do you have any photos of... Hanato? If there are any in your phone, that would be best.”

On the other end, Sakurai heard Raku sharply ask someone to leave his office, and then there were a few seconds of shuffling before he heard the ‘beeps’ of Raku accessing his cell. It was a long, tense minute before there came a jingle from Sakurai’s desk drawer and Raku relayed that he had sent a few over.

“Raku, don’t mention this to _anyone._” Sakurai said gravely, itching to look at the cellphone. “I’ll update you soon, but I have to confirm a few things first.”

“...alright,” Raku conceded, not happy about it one bit. “Call me back in three days or I’m coming there myself.”

“I promise.”

Raku had sent him three photos with a preface that told him that the first was from Raku’s first meeting with Hanato twelve years ago, when Raku was eight; the second was from Raku’s sixteenth birthday party four years ago; and the third was one Sunako had sent him of Hanato’s middle school graduation this past year.

The first photo loaded while Sakurai read Raku’s message, and it showed Issei, Sakurai and Sunako beside each other, smiling, Raku in front of them with his arms around the shoulders of a shyly smiling toddler. The youngest boy’s black hair stuck up at every angle in the front, he had green eyes behind childrens’ glasses and he was obviously foreign –which meant that if people easily called the boy his son, he must have been adopted. Sakurai studied the chubby little face critically and tried to remember even a flash of this moment, even the flash from the _camera_, but there was nothing.

The next picture contained Raku, Chitoge and the b –Hanato. Raku and Chitoge were sixteen and the photo was obviously posed, as they had linked their forearms and were balancing a roughly twelve year old Hanato on them like a swing. Sakurai could see even without being told that it was the same child –same dark skin, green eyes and messy black hair. He was a little scratched up and had a missing tooth (was he a troublemaker?) and his glasses were different, and instead of letting his bangs run wild he had copied Raku and used bobby pins to try and tame it, to little avail... and Sakurai tried, but he didn’t recall this either. When he scrutinized the background, his breath punched out of his gut to see Wakatoshi making a silly face next to the back door, Kanata turned the other way. He remembered _that –_it was so rare for his Sun to drop his cool act, and he was sure there had been a birthday party, and that he had met Chitoge there for the first time, but _the boy..._

The last picture should have been the one that sparked something in him, made him realize that he knew _exactly_ who the young man in the photos was and recall why the Sakurai in the picture looked so damn _proud._

Hanato was standing tall and straight in his middle school uniform, his diploma held up with one hand while the other gave the ‘V for Victory’ sign. His glasses were rectangular, and he’d gained a scar over his temple, three parallel slashes into his eyebrow, and now he was missing a part of his tooth from his bottom jaw, the old missing one probably a late baby tooth. Hanato had managed to control his hair by now because he’d grown it out and pulled it back into an up-do.

The Sakurai in the photo looked so different from how he’d been feeling lately –how long exactly had he been feeling this out-of-sorts? He was smiling sedately and had hooked one arm around Hanato’s shoulders, and he too was giving the ‘V for Victory’ sign, but Sakurai could recognize from his own face that he was also trying not to laugh. Was it Sunako taking the picture? Would she remember the son that had all but vanished from their lives, would she remember the boy that the Sakurai in the photo so obviously loved with all his might but now –_now-_

_“Tatsu!” _

His Lieutenant slid the door open instantly but remained outside the office, likely he’d been waiting there ever since Sakurai’s flames had begun to spike in his upset. Tatsu was the only one of his Harmony that had been there when that teenager had approached him in the shopping district; if Sakurai knew anything about his second then he knew that Tatsu wouldn’t have simply forgotten about the incident.

“That boy who mistook me for someone’s father some weeks back, did you look into him?” Sakurai was glad his Storm hadn’t entered; it gave him time to compose himself.

“Aye. Kid’s named Sawada Tsunayoshi, lives here in Namimori. You... want me to bring him in, Kumichō?” Sakurai raised an eyebrow at the almost reluctant tone. “Er... kid’s got Vongola connections.”

It felt like he should know something about that. Had some enemy Mist progressed so far that they could simply _take _or –or _hide_ memories now? Or was this something else?

“No, you won’t have to do anything. But if you have his address, _I_ will.” Sakurai stood up at the noise of protest Tatsu let out and stared his Storm down –he could see the man’s internal war between listening to him or keeping him out of danger. Eventually trust won out and he scribbled an address on a card and left it just inside the door.

“Take _someone_ with you, at least, Sakurai... else we’ll all be worried.” Tatsu requested quietly, and Sakurai nodded because he knew it was just in his Lieutenant’s nature to worry, especially now that Wakatoshi was gone.

“Sunako will accompany me. Please go and ask her to come and see me immediately. As well, I’ll need you to watch Mio for the afternoon, Tatsu.” His Storm nodded instantly, and within the blink of an eye had gone off to locate Sunako. Sakurai picked up the card with Sawada’s address on it and slipped it into his pocket, and spent the next few minutes staring at the photo of Hanato’s graduation.

His wife appeared in a rush, and to see her now after the pictures nearly caused Sakurai physical pain. They had already lost one child and gone through so much worry over Mio, and now he was going to tell her they had another son, somehow, almost fully grown –and that neither of them, that _no one_ inside the Momokyou-kai even knew he existed.

“Ana... Sakurai, what is it?” Sunako instantly –always –could tell when he was shaken, and at times it was as much a burden as a blessing. He steered her into his office and shut the door tightly, then wrapped his arms around her and held tight for a minute, gathering his courage.

Sunako was tense, but remained quiet when Sakurai finally pulled away, and her gaze flicked from his gutted expression to the phone he presented to her with confusion.

“Look at the pictures.”

Sakurai had been looking at the last photo, so that was the one Sunako saw first –her eyes went wide and she had the expression of someone who had seen something outside the realm of possibility, who still didn’t know what it was she was looking at. She scrolled up to the photo of Raku’s sixteenth and her forehead creased, bewilderment obvious in every line of her face as her eyes traced the three faces staring up at her.

Then came the oldest photo, the only one to have her in it; her face went white with shock, and Sakurai squeezed his eyes shut at the stuttering gasp she released, not wanting to see her make the conclusions she likely was.

“_Sakurai_?” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, and felt her grip his arm. “Sakurai, what _is_ this? Who is –when did –Sakurai, _what is going on_?”

“He’s our son,” Sakurai choked out, and he tried to grit his teeth against the lump growing in his throat; he didn’t know this boy, couldn’t remember a single thing about him, but now the mere thought of him was making him- “He’s our _son_, Hanato. Raku sent me those –he –he remembers him, expected _me _to _remember _him but I can’t. I can’t remember a thing about him, Sunako.”

“It can’t be true.” Sunako denied, and finally Sakurai had to look at her –she was standing as straight as an arrow and was staring at his phone with her eyes a blaze of red. “No, I can’t have –this can’t be real. I can’t have lost another –another –oh _god._”

Sakurai pulled the phone away and set it on the desk, but Sunako was still staring straight ahead with her Storm flames pumping visibly, probably her Lightning coiled defensively just behind them. She was always unpredictable when she got like this, so Sakurai was careful when he moved her close to him once more and tried to rock gently when all he felt like doing was burning something to the ground.

“Why don’t I recognize him? He’s our _son?_” Sunako demanded, the helpless rage clear in her voice. “We already lost –we’ve already lost Kiku and now –who _did this_?! I’ll _kill them!_” Sakurai heartily agreed, and was already making plans to see if it was those damn Tomaso-gumi bastards after they visited Sawada. “Sakurai, how did this _happen?_”

“I don’t know,” Sakurai admitted. “But I know where we can start looking.”

Vvv 

“Wow, _all_ of you are here.”

The sombre quiet of the camp that had lingered following Yuni’s declaration broke in an instant –all of the able-bodied (and none too few of the injured) combatants scrambled into defensive positions around their leaders. Within seconds at least a dozen different weapons were pointed and at the ready, trailed on the outline of a figure shadowed by the crest of the canyon wall.

“Who’s there?! Identify yourself!” Gamma demanded, cagily placing himself alongside Tazaru and Nosaru to better shield Yuni. “We’ll shoot otherwise!”

“...calm yourself, Giglio Nero. I’m here to offer my help.” The man said, slowly raising his arms to show his empty hands. “If you’ll let me, I’ll step into the light.”

The air was tense after Gamma grunted a short affirmative, the stranger making sure to telegraph his movements so there was less of a chance that someone would shoot him for ‘acting suspiciously’. The campfire threw his Middle Eastern features into sharp relief, his tan skin with dark eye bags and black, unclean braided hair giving him a sickly, down-trod impression. He moved forward a bit more and the light stopped glinting off his slim, cracked glasses enough that everyone could see the scar over his eyebrow, like he’d been slashed at by a fork.

Tsuna met the stranger’s green eyes and gasped sharply –the man answered it with a relieved slump and weary grin.

“Nayoshi.”

_“Hana-aniki?!”_

The response was immediate –those from the future who may have heard of Hanato one way or another relaxed slightly, while everyone from the past murmured in a mix of confusion and surprise. It was when Reborn lowered Leon to his hip that most of the others lost the rest of their tension and gave Hanato the chance to jump down from his perch.

“Aniki, you’re _alive_!” Tsuna yelled, and he ran to pull the now twenty six year old version of his brother into an embrace, clutching him tighter than what must have been comfortable. “N-No one knew –or remembered –not even _Shoichi-kun_ could say if you –if-”

“You’re so small.” Hanato marvelled absently, blinking down at the teenager wrapped around his chest like he hadn’t heard anything he’d said. Tsuna grumbled and pressed his face into Hanato’s shoulder, only easing up when Hanato returned the gesture. “Sorry, Nayoshi. I went underground after you... well. I only got back recently.” The hiccup he got in reply was tiny, but this time Hanato caught it. “Forgive me?”

By now most of the adrenaline that had filled the canyon at his unexpected arrival had waned, but any that lingered was quickly dispelled at the frustrated groan Tsuna let out accompanied by a nod.

“Thank you.” Hanato said, and Tsuna finally pulled back, cheeks flushed in embarrassment at his display. “Everyone, my name is Momoda Hanato, I’m Nayoshi’s older brother. You can count on my support in this battle.”

“Thank you, Momoda-san.” Yuni said, sidestepping her well meaning bodyguards in order to bow gratefully in Hanato’s direction. “All support is appreciated more than you could ever realize.”

Hanato looked a tad too uncomfortable at the thanks, Tsuna noted, so he didn’t feel bad when he interjected. “Um, I think we’ve basically worked out as much as we can –well, we should probably all get some rest.”

“He’s right.” Reborn said firmly. “It’ll be useless otherwise.”

Hanato stared oddly at Tsuna and remained quiet as he was led over to where most of the Vongola Tenth Generation was set up by the edge of the forest. Nearly all the assembled teenagers were half asleep by then, and they exchanged brief re-introductions as to who Hanato was from Tsuna before they all got back to it –Hanato tried to refuse Tsuna’s offered pillow but was glared into submission, lying down gingerly near his little brother’s right side.

“Go to sleep, Nayoshi.” He murmured just as Tsuna opened his mouth to try and talk to him. “We’ll have time to catch up. You need rest.”

“O...Okay, Hana-aniki.” Tsuna slurred around a yawn, feeling like he wanted to argue, but instead he just reached out to touch Hanato’s shoulder. “Don’t –Don’t dis... disappe... ar... again...”

“I won’t.”

Tsuna fell asleep in seconds, but Hanato’s rest was light and fitful, and he couldn’t stop from snapping awake every so often so he could check his surroundings. Finally he resigned himself to lying awake, and alternated between staring at the sky and then at the Sky next to him.

“Taz, Tazaru, c’mon...” Hanato swivelled his head to look at where Nosaru was trying –and failing –to wake his injured companion.

“Oi, what’s up?” He asked as loudly as he could without waking Nayoshi, sitting up slowly; Nosaru glared at Tazaru’s still snoring form and huffed.

“Watch. Taz’s supposed to take it.”

Hanato sighed and stood up, cracking several spots along his body as he went. “I’ll take it, let him sleep.” Nosaru looked ready to protest, so Hanato cut in. “I’m already awake, and won’t get back to sleep. He’s injured.”

“...fine. Switch out with Yamamoto in two hours.” Nosaru groused, and Hanato muttered an ascent before he meandered out to the little rocky seat that he had spotted Nosaru set himself up on earlier.

To give himself something to do, Hanato kept half of his attention on the dark forest stretched out before him, and the other half on giving his knives a much needed cleaning, along with a quick reapply of the poison he kept on his hidden blade. When that was over, he decided to do a bit of gun maintenance so it would be in good working order for whatever was going to come the next day. Hanato let the task carry him, zoning out so his body acted on autopilot but he was still on alert for any movement within the trees.

Yamamoto found him two and a half hours later, slumped forward and staring straight into the darkness; his gun pointed so the barrel tapped at the soft underside of his chin. One hand cupped the bottom of the clip while the other loosely held it in position, index finger resting on the trigger and the safety clearly not engaged. It hit his throat every few seconds, a tick he’d developed whenever he let his hold over his body loosen the last few years.

Yamamoto got his attention by scuffing the ground lightly with his shoe before he sat on a smaller rock only a couple of feet away, his sword resting comfortably against his shoulder and staring at Hanato’s profile.

“You wanna switch out?” The boy asked, far too calm for the situation, for how young he was.

“I’ll stay.”

“Okay.” He said, easy acceptance and little else. Hanato noticed Yamamoto turn to the forest out of the corner of his eye, and beyond him several people shifted in sleep before the camp was still again.

“You know, I tried to kill myself once.” Yamamoto opened casually a few minutes in, his voice as steady as if he was commenting on the state of a baseball field. “Tsuna was the one who saved me. I owe him my life.”

“Nayoshi doesn’t see it like that.” Hanato said.

“Maybe not. But I do.” There was silence for a few minutes more. “I still think about it sometimes. Still want to, sometimes.”

“Jesus, kid.” Hanato glanced at the teenager –he was so _young_. “That ain’t healthy.”

“I’m seeing someone for it.” Yamamoto shrugged. “It’s never gonna get to that point again, anyway. I wouldn’t throw away what Tsuna thought was worth something.” Yamamoto’s eyes flashed, and he side-eyed Hanato _hard_. “But if you’re gonna do that, then save it for tomorrow, after.”

Hanato gaped a little –it wasn’t everyday someone told him to _postpone_ a suicide attempt. “Christ, I’m not –I’m not gonna _use_ it. I’m just... thinkin’ about it. I always just _think_ about it, and even when I decide I _will_ do it-” Hanato frowned, and he clicked the safety back on, holstering the gun. “-no way I’ll go where someone can _stop_ me.”

Yamamoto shrugged, and that would’ve been the end of it, except –the teenager turned his head back toward the camp and dipped his chin, and Hanato looked to see-

“N-Nayoshi.”

His little brother was hovering at the edge of the sleeping bags, looking torn between confusion and horror and anger, Reborn next to and slightly behind him. Even with how fucked up he was, Hanato could feel the barely contained, roiling Sky flames coming from Nayoshi –giving off nothing but fear, fear, fear.

“Yamamoto, could I take over for you, please?” Nayoshi asked, making the not-order unintentionally disconcerting with his even, clipped tone. “Reborn will be with us.”

“Sure, Tsuna, whatever you want.” Yamamoto agreed immediately –and _fuck_, Hanato had _not_ realized that Tsuna and his Guardians had Harmonized to such a degree in the short time since the Ring Battles. Yamamoto gave Tsuna a pat on the shoulder as he passed him and settled back down at one of the sleeping bags close to the fire, keeping one eye on their little group.

Nayoshi appeared hesitant for a long moment, but then his gaze flickered down to where Hanato’s gun was strapped under his arm and his expression turned steely.

“I think we need to talk, Hana-aniki.”

Tsuna stepped forward and then paused as his older brother stood suddenly, looking nervous and frazzled and fiddling with one of the rings he wore.

“Look, Nayoshi, it’s not. Please don’t be –I didn’t-” He kept stopping himself, face reddening further with each hiccup in his explanation. “...you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Well, I did, and now I’m worried for you.” Tsuna said as gently as possible. “No, now I’m scared for you. What _happened_ to you, Aniki? Please.”

Hanato’s face seemed to crumple for a second –his older brother glanced at Reborn and then back at Tsuna.

“No one from your time remembers me, do they? Not even you, Reborn-san.” He began, eyes glazing over a little. “But Nayoshi, _you_ noticed my absence after the Ring Battles?”

“I –I did. I thought I was going crazy.” Tsuna admitted.

“You weren’t. The... enemies my birth parents had run from wanted me, and they weren’t above memory modification to get me.” Hanato turned to Reborn. “Maybe you’ve dealt with old school British Wizards before, Reborn-san?”

“Shit.” Reborn’s expression darkened. “_Your_ memories, too?”

“I couldn’t –my _body_ forgot about Dying Will Flames, they were so thorough.” He looked at his hands for several long seconds –and then he folded down to his knees and bowed forward until his forehead was level with his waist. Both Tsuna and Reborn jerked in surprise at the action.

“Please, Nayoshi, I need you to _help_ _me_.” Hanato practically begged, his fists clenched in the grass near his ears. “If you go back, if you get my past self _out_ of that _place_ –my life will be completely different. This me, now, will no longer exist. I need you to do this for me.”

“But –But that’s-” Tsuna struggle to wrap his head around what was happening. “Hana-aniki, I won’t –I can’t _kill_ you!”

“You won’t be. You’ll be saving me.”

“How can you _say_ that?!”

Reborn took a step forward. “Tsuna.”

“Nayo-”

“No!” Tsuna exclaimed, feeling the familiar blaze of orange flicker in his eyes. “Hanato, I’ve been in this future for _months_, and for all that time I thought I was hallucinating you or I would never get to see you again! Now you want me to –you’re _alive_ but you –you want me to –_to_-”

“_Otouto_.”

Tsuna clammed up at Hanato’s voice, tears blurring his vision and his juvenile Sky flames flaring out at even the thought of agreeing to essentially end his brother’s life. Hanato stared downwards for a moment; then he bowed again, this time touching his head to the ground.

“I beg of you, do this –for me.” He said; his voice cracked and Tsuna felt his heart ache.

“In... In the past I’m being held against my will. No one remembers me –_I_ barely remember me. And I won’t start to think that something’s wrong with that until I’m nearly twenty.” Hanato’s breath came in short bursts, like he was having trouble keeping up the rhythm. “When I finally get my memories back, I lose my mind. I’m stuck in a mental ward for three years and once I get out I still... I still can’t get over it. The paranoia, the panic attacks, the –the _flame_-”

Hanato stalled, and desperately Tsuna wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to comfort him, but he knew Reborn was behind him and would pull him back at a moment’s notice. “I don’t find you again until –and you’ve all but forgotten me, too, and the Millefiore are on the warpath.” Hanato let out a single sob and then sobered abruptly. “My family –the Momokyou-kai are gone. My parents are dead, and Isami with them. My sister –my baby sister-”

“_Aniki_-” Tsuna started, horrified, but he cut himself off just as quickly. Hanato continued like he hadn’t said anything at all.

“The past two years have been hell.” Hanato went silent for a long minute. “...Grief took me over until I could do nothing but fight the bastards laying siege on you and yours. And then _you_ died...”

“Please, Nayoshi –_Don_ _Vongola_, I have nothing _left_!”

Tsuna couldn’t stand it any longer and flung himself forward, fell on his knees and pulled Hanato up by the shoulders. He hugged him close, tighter than he thought he was capable of, no longer trying to restrain his tears.

“It’s, It’s gonna be okay, Aniki, I’m h-here.” Tsuna fumbled to say through his tears. “I’ll do it, of course I will. I-I’m sorry, I should’ve known you w-wouldn’t ask something like this unless –it was important, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“N’t yer f’lt. Jus’ a kid.” Hanato pressed his forehead into Tsuna’s shoulder so his words were slightly muffled. “Yer still jus’ a _kid_. Fuck. How c’ld I’ve asked that o’ you?”

“You didn’t get proper mental health care, did you?” Reborn asked somewhat unnecessarily, stepping closer now that Hanato had settled down a bit. “Your flames are out of whack and you haven’t slept in four days.”

“Hah, damn Sun users...” Hanato tried to pull away but Tsuna was in full fussing mode and wouldn’t have it; Hanato grumbled but consented to staying put. “It was a Magical ward.”

“So no, then. Can you even fight? Your Rain flames are practically drained.” To Tsuna’s fascination, Reborn lit one of his small hands in Sun flames and pressed it to the back of Hanato’s neck. Hanato tensed for a second before he relaxed again, leaning much of his body weight on Tsuna and making a noise like it felt good enough to push him to tears. Tsuna noticed it the second that Reborn’s face split first with confusion and then mounting fury and something _else_. “What _is_ _this_?”

“They’re not drained... they’re –they’re _gone_. It happened when... I was seventeen.”

It took Tsuna a moment to understand. For better or worse he hadn’t been raised in Mafia culture, but the past year practically saturated in it had let some of the major points settle in. Hanato himself had told Tsuna –had told everyone at their little flame debrief before the Ring Battles –that Rain flames were his Primary, like Yamamoto, and his Secondary was Lightning.

If his... if they were _gone_... that meant... what did that _mean_?

“I’ll never let that happen to you.” Tsuna very close to snarled, some quiet, intensely protective part of himself rearing its head. “We’re going to defeat Byakuran and when we get back to the past, I’m going to get you _out of there_, Hanato.”

“N-Nayo-shi.”

Hanato still wasn’t crying, but he shook terribly and clung to Tsuna’s shirt like a limpet. Tsuna soothed at his back and tried to murmur comforting things, tried to calm his brother down, but it only made Hanato shake harder.

Vvv

By the time they left the compound to go to the Sawada household it was nearing lunchtime –Sunako had almost taken Mio along with them in her protective fervour, and Sakurai had just about agreed. But it was safer to leave her with Tatsu, especially when they were going to meet with someone who had ties to a family like the _Vongola._

“Here it is,” Sakurai murmured, and tightened the grip he had on his wife’s hand; he hated that he was the one who put the tinge of red in her eyes.

It was a modest two-storey home with a small yard and a gate, and there was a brown haired woman taking down laundry several feet away from where they stood in the street. Sakurai didn’t know if he should recognize her as well, but it wasn’t hard to see that from the resemblance, she was probably Sawada Tsunayoshi’s mother.

“Excuse me,” Sakurai called out, and she turned to look at them immediately with a cheerful smile.

“Oh, hello! Can I help you?” She put down the sheet she had been folding so she could walk over and talk to them at the gate.

“Yes, if it isn’t too much trouble. We need to speak with your son, Tsunayoshi-kun,” Sakurai said. “He’s friends with –our own son, Hanato.”

“Oh, well, of course!” The woman only grew brighter, and opened the gate for them to come in. “Why don’t you come in, have some tea? I think he’s in his room, now.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose...”

Sakurai and Sunako followed the woman –Nana, she introduced herself as –through the front door and into the living room, and then to the kitchen. Nana chattered a bit about the neighbourhood gossip as she boiled the water and prepared the tea pot, and Sakurai could feel Sunako growing more and more tense as the time dragged on with no end in sight. But once everything was laid out on the table, Nana excused herself to go and fetch her son, and Sunako calmed slightly.

It was when they heard Nana’s footsteps coming back down the stairs that the tremors hit –odd for this region, but not unheard of. They lasted less than a minute before they were over, and Nana came back into the kitchen then, starting to say that her son must have gone out already, when she made a noise of surprise.

“What are you all doing there? I thought you were upstairs.”

Sakurai turned around to see that the boy who knew Hanato was sprawled on the floor in the living room, confused and a little dazed and accompanied by three children. Even when he spoke he sounded disoriented, and two of the children instantly ran to Nana crying while the third hung back, eyes trained on Sakurai and his wife.

Nana cooed at the crying kids comfortingly for a moment, and then gently suggested to ‘Lambo’ and ‘Ipin’ that they accompany her to the store for groceries while Tsuna spoke with his guests. They were gone within a few minutes.

“Eh –Momoda-san?” Tsunayoshi finally noticed them, and Sakurai inclined his head.

“Tsunayoshi-kun.”

“B-But you-” Tsunayoshi froze, his eyes going as big as saucers, and then he looked straight to the child still near his side. “Reborn! _Hana-aniki!_”

“I’ll contact the Ninth right now,” The chi –wait, _Reborn? _As in the _World’s Greatest Hitman _Reborn? –answered gravely, and without another word he was gone and up the stairs.

“You remember our son?” Sunako asked, desperate, and Tsunayoshi looked so much _older_ than he had seemed before when he turned his panicked gaze to them.

“Momoda-san, Oba-sama, _you_ remember Hana-aniki?!” He sounded both relieved and terrified of the thought, and –oh. Oh, _now_ Sakurai could feel the Sky flames spiking off the teen in his distress, _now_ the pieces were coming together as to how this boy was related to the Vongola.

“No, we came here because my _nephew_ does.” Sakurai explained. “He sent me photographic evidence, but neither of us can remember. You were the only other person besides him that seemed to know Hanato existed.”

“Please, _please,_ what do you know about what’s happened to him?” Sunako sounded close to her limit again, and Sakurai squeezed her hand. “Everything about him, we can’t remember. You and Raku are the only people who _can._”

Tsunayoshi looked conflicted, scared even, but why?

“It’s complicated and... you won’t like it,” he said it with such certainty that Sakurai’s mind jumped to the worst –that they had lost another child _forever._ “He’s alive, but he’s being... held captive, because of who his birth parents were. He’s...” Here Tsunayoshi had to take a steadying breath. “He’s p-probably been hurt and had –had his _memory _played with –and –we don’t know wh-where he _is _or, or how to get to him-”

“Tsuna, calm down.” Reborn’s voice called out from the doorway, and the teenager sobered quickly. While Tsuna wiped at his eyes and face, Reborn turned his attention to Sakurai and Sunako.

“I’ve contacted the Ninth Don of the Vongola, Timoteo. He’s going to help us get to the bottom of this.” Reborn’s fedora hid his eyes partially, and he hopped onto the table so he could be on a more level field.

“W-Why would the Don Vongola-?” Sunako looked to Tsunayoshi, probably thinking of his position, but Reborn shook his head.

“Your son thinking of Dame-Tsuna as a little brother is one matter,” Reborn clicked his shoe firmly on the tabletop to pull everyone’s attention back to him. “Though no one here remembers, we’ve been told that Timoteo was the one to place Hanato in your care as a baby. Iemitsu kept an eye on him while he transitioned into your home, and Hanato and Tsuna met as children because of that.”

“How do you know all this?” Sakurai kept his composure, but only just.

“We received a message, of sorts.” Reborn replied. “It was sent to Tsuna, because Hanato suspected that whatever is sustaining this didn’t affect Skies. It outlined who kidnapped him, and what we should expect from it.” Somehow, even with hidden eyes, the Greatest Hitman’s expression grew darker. “The Ninth will be here in three days. After that, we’re going to have to move _fast. _The people who have your son are Magic-users, and what Hanato expects to happen to him cannot be allowed to pass.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR”S NOTE (IMPORTANT): Hi all! It sure has been awhile! I wanted to give some context to this last chapter since it might not be what you expected.
> 
> I had a third of it written when I fell off the update wagon. In the six months since then, it had languished –but some kind, excited reviewers made me want to at least give an ending for it. Because I’ll be honest, I’m just plain over Harry Potter. Putting aside that JKR is a transphobic piece of shit, I just can’t get as invested as I used to be able to. I’ve also joined a Marxist Org, which requires a lot of reading and dedication; it’s a better use of my energy. So this chapter is an ending. Not the best, not the longest, but I wanted to give everyone who liked my fic something, because just I didn’t want to just abandon it. That said, thank you all for reading!

Ron paused in the entrance to the dormitory at the sight across the way, through the open door to the washroom. He had skipped out on the last half of Binns’ lesson to come back up and wake Harry, who had taken to simply sleeping in until lunch every so often and ignoring the loss of points or detentions altogether –but his friend may not have actually been sleeping all this time. Harry was staring into the mirror with an intense look on his face and was gripping the sink hard enough that his knuckles stood out from the rest of his skin.

Ron blinked and a flash of purple curled over Harry’s forehead, and his scar changed; just like that time in the Common Room that Luna voiced her concerns, the lightning bolt inimical to the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ disappeared and was replaced by a much longer and more discoloured scar. A few parallel, jagged lines that slashed straight through his eyebrow and hooked a bit on the eyelid underneath, and then the sight flickered and went back to the ‘curse’ scar. Harry made a noise of frustration and hit the side of the sink, but the lightning scar stubbornly stayed where it was. When Harry glanced down, there was a flicker of purple over the back of his hand for a brief second, but Ron hadn’t yet seen what the ‘I must not tell lies’ was replaced by.

Ron scuffed his shoe across the floor and shot Harry an apologetic smile when he flinched and whirled around to see him.

“Oh, Ron,” Harry sounded relieved, which was much better than two days prior when Dean had snuck up on him and got clocked in the face for his trouble. “Class done already?”

“Nah, but it’s just Binns, figured I’d come up and grab you for lunch.”

Harry nodded absently and left the washroom with a final irritated glance at the mirror, and set about finding his uniform cloak; he’d started leaving the tie no matter how many times McGonagall chided him, and when Hermione had asked he’d given his typical reasoning nowadays, ‘It just makes me feel better’. Well, far be it for Ron to tell Harry to _stop _when his friend was finally settling down –bugger for everyone who wanted to win the House Championship.

Ron kept up a decent chat with Harry about Quidditch as they descended into the Common Room, not particularly bothered that neither of them was too invested in it. Lately Harry hadn’t held much interest in the sport –or in many Wizard-only activities, to be honest –so Ron had learnt to keep up the conversation himself or be content with quiet sometimes. It was strange, because at one point Ron _knew _he would’ve been annoyed at the lack of engagement. But Harry had been so distraught these past few weeks, Ron couldn’t bring himself to it; the moment he felt annoyance spark he remembered the way Harry had stared at his hand in open horror under Luna’s touch, or the dark, confident glint in his eye as he thrust a sword into Malfoy’s face, and he chastised himself.

They had just clambered out of the portrait hole when the end of class bell rang out and the start of the wave of all the other students down for lunch began. Ron had been hoping to pre-empt it, but perhaps being in more populated hallways wasn’t the worst –he could feel eyes on them as they joined the crowd, but there was less of a chance for a teacher to pull Harry over for a ‘chat’ at the same time.

Ron followed Harry to the Ravenclaw table once they reached the Great Hall, to where Luna was sitting with a book in the middle of a distinct bubble that separated her from the other fifth years. He hadn’t really realized how much she was ostracized until recently, and he channelled his frustration with his own past behaviour into glaring at anyone sitting at the Raven’s table who even _glanced _at her the wrong way. She never brought it up herself, but Ron was satisfied to see heads quickly turn away; Harry buffed her on the shoulder and she looked up at him with a small smile.

“Want to eat lunch with us?” Harry asked, and while she hemmed a little Luna ultimately declined; Harry asked her everyday just in case, but Ron had gathered that Luna liked using lunch to study. His friend never seemed put off about it, just nodded in acceptance and grinned easily.

“No worries, Luna. See you after class?”

“Sure. Maybe we can erase it from your hand for good, this time,” Luna’s eyes flickered with lilac briefly, but Ron didn’t have the time to dwell on that. With Harry moving on, Ron cast one last stare at the fifth year Ravenclaw boys –gained him a few flinches, excellent –before he trotted after his friend over to their house table.

Ginny was next in the rounds, as she usually sat with a few other fifth and fourth year Gryffindors near the end of the table closest to the doors. When she spotted them coming the girl next to Ginny whispered something to her which made her snort; a few paces from the bench Ginny raised a fist and offered it for Harry to give her props. She met Ron’s stare and rolled her eyes, but he scuffed at her hair before she could make another crack about him being a ‘guard dog’.

“Burnes still giving you trouble?” Harry asked –Ginny had complained fiercely about one of the Slytherin boys in her DADA class being overly formal with the duelling protocols and causing more problems than he solved.

“He certainly didn’t expect a leg sweep,” she said cheerily –Harry had suggested she put in a show of ‘muggle dueling’ as some of the Professors called it and see how the boy managed with that. “Snape docked me points, but the look on everyone’s faces was worth it.”

“I always said you were my favourite sister, Gin’,” she punched him in the arm for the blatant lie, but still snorted out a laugh as she waved them off to go to Harry’s next stop.

Ron liked the little routine Harry had set up during lunch –it kept him in the loop even if he was off doing his own thing for the rest of the day (read: avoiding the teachers) and he knew the others in their little circle appreciated it as well. After the incident last week with the locked down Come and Go room, he and Hermione had seriously talked it all over with Dean, Seamus, Luna, Ginny and Neville, and they had all come to the same conclusion; Harry needed help, and they were going to do their damndest to be the ones who gave him that. The teachers never believed any of them when it came to Quirrell or the Chamber, not with Sirius or how bad Umbridge was, and since they were being affected by these weird flames too, there was no point in going to them.

So Luna coached Harry through his attempts to wipe away certain parts of the illusion consistently. Ginny talked with him about her classes and probably vented stuff to him she didn’t feel comfortable saying to Ron himself. Dean prompted Harry to join him in his ‘football’ exercises, and Seamus made sure he ate at least twice a day. Neville brought him class notes from the mornings he missed and tried to help him through this aversion to using his wand –more and more he was letting that slide, however, since it threw Harry into a worse mood if he acquiesced. Hermione was quietly doing research into the names Harry still dropped now and then, and had recently sent out a few letters to test the waters –nothing too explicit, just in case they got the wrong person or this magic affected more people than they thought.

And Ron... well, maybe Ginny was a _little_ right when she teased him about being a guard dog. Not that he stopped anyone from approaching Harry. But he had to admit that since the incident, it had been harder to tear himself away from the comfortable spot he’d fallen into just a bit behind his shoulder and to the side. He didn’t know how to describe it, and he wasn’t sure how to bring it up with the others. Regardless, he did what he could and Harry seemed to appreciate it –even if it meant _he _was the one who ended up meeting with Malfoy most of the time, now.

When they got to Neville, Dean and Seamus they were nearly done, and Harry was quick to insert himself between Dean and Neville while Ron sat for a moment on the bench next to Seamus. Ron prepared himself for either a bickering argument or a gang-up of mother hens, and wasn’t disappointed.

“See, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Just barely, I’d guess,” Dean chuffed a little and elbowed Harry in the side. “Worried us right out of our minds, you did.”

“That’s what _I _said,” Seamus thrust a finger into Harry’s face dramatically across Neville’s line of sight. “You _will_ be eating something _won’t you_? Dobby told me you didn’t send for breakfast.”

“Yes, mum,” Harry grinned and grabbed at Seamus’ ear over Neville’s shoulders and gave it a tweak, and Seamus attempted to punch him in the stomach through the space Neville left between his lap and his arms on the table. “Next you gonna check on my report card? See I’ve done my laundry?” Ron shared a commiserating glance with Neville through the tangle of limbs, something to the effect of ‘why is stupidity good for us?’

“Alright, alright, you two’ve had your fun. Hermione _does_ need to see you before class, Harry,” Ron reminded, which made his friend perk up.

“Right, yeah, thanks Ron,” still, he couldn’t resist pinching Seamus’ cheek once more, and deftly dodged the swipe to his head. “Still on for tomorrow, Dean?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Harry waved as he left them and Ron followed at a more sedate pace, and as Harry slid in next to Hermione and engaged her about whatever it was she needed him for, he found himself glad and relieved. Whatever caused Harry’s sudden shift in character –Harry was _letting it_, and he hadn’t seen his friend so self assured and at ease in all the time he’d known him.

Ron arrived next to them just as they finished their discussion, and took the seat in between them when Harry scooched over and waved him towards it. Harry made sure to wiggle his fingers at Seamus a dozen feet down and tucked into his meal, while Hermione nudged Ron’s shoulder with her own.

“You look happy,” she observed.

“Do I?” Ron accepted the cup of tea she passed him. “I guess Malfoy’s not such a bad bloke...”

She snorted. “You know what I mean.” Ron shrugged, but didn’t refute her. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ve got something I need your help with after class. Bring Malfoy.”

Harry wasn’t giving his input even though he could clearly hear them, which was –good. He’d explicitly told them that he didn’t need to be _minded _or involved in every aspect of their lives, but he would appreciate being kept in the loop if it was about his situation. He’d be happy so long as that kept on. “Found something interesting?” Ron guessed.

“Let’s call it a surprise.”

Something in his chest, the same _something _that itched when he had to leave Harry alone or with people he didn’t trust, wiggled pleasantly at that –Harry wasn’t the only person who had loosened up a little over the last few weeks. He let it do what it wanted, akin to when he cast a spell he knew by heart, and a strange warmth flowed through his veins straight towards his two closest friends; one traveled from his ribs down his side and into his leg where it was pressed up against Hermione’s, and the other chased up to his shoulder and then down to his elbow where it touched Harry’s arm. The other two relaxed instantly and Ron let it stay calm and quiet for a minute before he reluctantly tucked the feeling back and away.

Luna said not to do it very often or it would get to be too much, almost addictive. It was the fire, she hazarded, because she was certain that some part of Harry was much more experienced with the flames than with magic. It was in the stuff’s nature to search for connection and stability wherever it thought was a good avenue. Harry didn’t have many close friendships, so _they _were where it would go firstly.

To be quite honest, Ron intended to take the warning seriously –it wasn’t as if he was particularly keen on possibly losing his magic. But at the same time, it _was _quickly becoming more difficult to talk himself out of giving in to what the stuff wanted.

And in the back of his mind, he wondered each time; which would he choose, if he was faced with Harry’s happiness or his own? Once they figured out where these visions were coming from, would he be content to stay and fight the war on the horizon while Harry... _if_ Harry decided, justified, that he wanted no more part of it?

Most of the time he couldn’t find an answer. But then he would sometimes catch Harry relaxed and stretched out like a cat, no nightmares, no wariness in his face, and he thought maybe he knew.

VVV

Hermione had been itching to get Malfoy into her clutches –he wanted _out _of the Death Eaters and knew more about Harry’s situation than anyone else in the school, there was no way she could pass up the opportunity to grill him until she was satisfied. That the person she was corresponding with –no name, just an M initial –wanted to get his input on their preparations was just icing on the cake. Harry had no problem with her taking the reins of the whole rotten business into her own hands, he trusted her to see it through and do it thoroughly, and to repay that she was going to claw back whatever this farce was and get Harry the answers he needed.

When Ron showed up with Malfoy in tow, the Slytherin looked sick to his stomach and twitchy. Despite their history, she found herself concerned –hearing Harry offhandedly mention Malfoy’s strange behaviour when it came to this arrangement of theirs was one thing, but actually seeing it was another. He definitely didn’t fit the bill of the boy who only last year had been puffed up on the power that Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad had given to him.

“What more is there?” he asked when she got them both to sit down. “I’m already about at rock-bottom when it comes to the Manor. I wasn’t supposed to start learning about it in detail until next year.”

“Things have started moving faster than that,” Hermione admitted. The third letter from M had come in the mail this morning, and when she had gone over it briefly with Harry there had actually been a spark of recognition in his face. “If all goes well, V-Voldemort should be out of the way by the new year.”

Malfoy stared at her like she was a loon, his complexion flushed red, and even Ron appeared unnerved. She supposed it was a pretty bold statement to make when even Dumbledore didn’t seem all very confident in the fight against him, regardless of what he’d shown Harry in that clandestine meeting they had gone through two weeks ago.

“Malfoy, you’ve given us more than enough to break into the manor, I’m told,” Hermione tried to smile at him through the strange atmosphere, but she couldn’t tell if it was doing anything at all to make him feel better. “It won’t be difficult for –er, the people I’m corresponding with, to use it so long as nothing changes too much in the next two months. It’s the plan you were working on to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts that we need to accelerate.”

Malfoy made a noise like she’d punched him in the gut. “The Vanishing Cabinet won’t _work_. Not when the pair’s in Knockturn, and _not_ without an engineer to fix it.”

“Not that one, surprisingly. You’ve been researching the Siege Wards,” it was just an educated guess based on what he had laid out for Ron that he was planning to have done over the next few months, but when Malfoy’s jaw dropped she allowed a bit of satisfaction to bleed through. “There’s no record that _I_ could access on them, but it isn’t hard to find out that the Malfoy’s ancestors, the A’Dale Noble Family, were the ones to develop the Ward Matrixes back in the 1500s.”

“Bloody hell,” Malfoy muttered absently, which –well, who _wouldn’t_ preen at the gobsmacked look on his face? From her right, Ron gave her a knowing, amused grin and she just felt even more smug. “You –fine, _yes_, that’s what I’ve been doing. They’re complicated but not impenetrable.”

“I need you to tell me how to get around them. Everything you can give me. After that, we’ll consider you square and I’ll even help Harry get you out of all this,” Malfoy still looked apprehensive, but he nodded in acceptance and that was about the best Hermione had expected. They arranged for Malfoy to bring any books and notes on the Wards he possessed to the Come-and-Go Room the next day, and when he left he had regained a bit of his normal expression to his face.

“Easy to pity when he’s all humble like this, huh?” Ron asked, and flopped down on the couch next to her. Whenever Harry wasn’t around these days he turned extremely clingy, although Hermione couldn’t say she minded. Luna had given her the same talk about this odd Fire that was affecting them that she gave to Ron, and Hermione was smart enough to recognize that she wasn’t exactly an island in a storm right now.

“And Ginny’s right, we don’t even know which parts we’re remembering about him are true,” she mused, and when she leaned back into the couch cushions Ron’s head got dislodged off her shoulder and he instead dropped it down close to her knee. He sighed dramatically and stretched his arms up into the air, and when he met her eyes he was more serious than usual.

“This person you’re writing, they’re going to take Harry away, right?” he frowned slightly at the thought. “But it’ll be good for him. He _hates_ it here.”

“They’re writing on behalf of a ‘concerned third party’, who has the resources and the inclination to wipe Voldemort off the map. Or rather, anyone involved in this, because before I explained what we knew they were all ready to level Hogwarts itself,” that first response to her letter was tucked safe in a hidden compartment in her trunk and still made her stomach drop out when she read it. “But, yes. If Harry wants to go, they’ll take him. And the only reason they haven’t already is because the Fire and Magic combining are making it hard to get a fix on where we are.”

“...What are we going to _do_?” Ron shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms into them. “I want Harry to be happy, but –I don’t want to be without him.”

And wasn’t that just the crux of this, that in order for Harry to be happy he had to leave them behind. Sometimes, Hermione thought about what it meant, that all her memories of Harry from the last five years weren’t real, that what she was feeling right now wasn’t actually _real. _She wondered if Ron and the others had thought about it, that the only reason they felt so attached to Harry was because they all thought he’d been their friend since they were eleven. But even saying that, even logically knowing all of that, there was still a big part of Hermione that shouted back, ‘who cares?!’

What did it matter that the past five years weren’t real? The past three months certainly were, and how must _Harry _be feeling since he’d realized the same thing she had –that all of his memories of _them _before the end of June weren’t real either?

Or, she supposed, that they didn’t _know_ if they were real or not, nor where his memories of that other boy’s life were coming from, not really. That the uncertainty there was almost worse than having a clear answer.

“I suppose we’ll do what’s best for Harry,” she eventually settled on, and when Ron made a awful little noise behind his hands she scrunched up her face and put a hand in his hair to distract them both. “That’s all we _can_ do.”

VVV

“They want _me_ to...”

Hermione nodded and tapped at the third paragraph in the letter, then handed it back to Luna. “They explained it fairly thoroughly. Apparently you’re the only one who _can _because you’ve got the same Fire colour as what’s on Harry.”

Luna bit her lip and read the passage in question, and it _did _seem fairly straightforward. Whoever had written this was obviously well versed in using them _and _understood that Luna didn’t want to go past a certain threshold –they’d even offered, once they took care of all of this, to put a limiter on them for her so she didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Luna couldn’t say she wasn’t sorely tempted, because this had been on her mind since her mother had died. Before that, even.

Harry lounged on the couch he’d taken to in the Room and with a little effort Luna could see the lilac all over him, most strong around his heart and, strangely, his forearms. But in the weeks passed since the revelation of how they made everyone around him forget him, Harry had also undergone a change in this aspect, not only in his personality and gait.

There were flicks of blue and green among the lilac, especially so around the most blatant spots on his forehead and the back of his hand. There had always been a strong spot of purple in the mass over his heart, and now there were tentative specks of yellow and red, so small that if Luna wasn’t already straining to see she might have missed them entirely. Or missed the barely there flecks of colour that sparked in Ron and Hermione’s eyes whenever they touched Harry these days. She had suspected they hadn’t listened to her, but at least it was still less so than even her own abilities with the Fire.

“And what did they send you to carry it?” Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a... metal mason jar with a clear stone stuck into the side of it. It almost reminded Luna of her early attempts at earrings before she hit on her current favourites. “Alright, let’s see what Harry says.”

“Sure, do what you need to,” Harry agreed easily once they explained, and stayed where he was as Luna sat down on the table in front of him to go over the letter once more. Hermione kept the mason jar at the ready, and after a minute Luna nodded firmly; she could do this.

She focused again, and when she dipped her hand through the fire it _gave_, and actually allowed her to pull a handful up and into the air –without taking it too far away, Luna poured it into the jar and then took another handful for good measure before Hermione hastily screwed the cap on. The stone on the outside of the jar turned indigo, and they relaxed. Harry had kept still and silent under her hands, but when she pulled back he shuddered and grasped at the spot where she had removed the flame, just around his stomach.

“Weird,” he breathed out, and in a second the empty spots filled back in, this time with decidedly more blue and green in them. “Ugh, it never goes away. Tell me this’ll push things along, ‘Mione?”

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione stood and snatched a box from the floor, a letter already waiting inside of it. “I’ve got to send this off now, thanks Luna!”

“No problem,” Luna let herself relax, let the lilac bleed out of her vision, and turned back to see Harry staring at her.

“You know, I don’t, like, remember much about all the stuff I was dreaming about. It kind of feels like I’ve gone back to square one, except I _know_ at the same time. Weird, isn’t it?” Luna nodded, and Harry went back to staring up at the ceiling. “Like an instinct. I don’t want to use _magic_, I want to use these Flames, but every time I try I can’t seem to get through. How is it you can _stop _yourself?”

“Because I _like_ magic. Flames are too specialized for my taste,” Harry hummed in acknowledgement of that. “Also, I don’t want to have to work for the Mafia.”

“Ha! That’s a pretty good deterrent, actually.”

They were quiet again for a moment, and then Luna looked down at Harry’s forehead, and the scar that wasn’t really there.

“Harry, if you can’t remember, then how do you know that you want to leave?” Harry looked surprised at her question for a moment, and then hummed in thought.

“You’re pretty sharp, y’know that, Luna?” he smiled slightly, and Luna couldn’t help but jump a little when his eyes _glowed_ green. “Don’t tell the others, alright? I don’t want them to worry. But I don’t remember Hanato’s past anymore because I saw his future,” he swiped at the fire on his forehead and it cleared for a few seconds. “Anything would be better than that, _anything. _But he sent a message back somehow, and you heard Hermione –whoever she’s writing knows what they’re doing. So I’ll stay here, and get the answers about Hanato’s past when _they _get here, and once all that happens? I’m pretty damn sure I’ll still want to leave.”

///

When Hermione asked him to pull one over on Professor McGonagall, Dean spit out his pumpkin juice and weathered being laughed at by his friends until he had recovered. He had listened to her explanation and read the same letters this ‘M’ was sending her, and after a night of thinking about it he had agreed to go along with the request. It wasn’t too difficult to forge a letter from his mother to show his Head of House, given that Charlotte Thomas had never corresponded with the school before, and although it felt a little strange to ask, McGonagall agreed to be his escort out to London.

Dean was jittery with nerves as they made their way to the small restaurant ‘M’ had set up as the meeting point, hoping that his teacher wouldn’t assume the worst when they entered and Charlotte was nowhere in sight. Thankfully it never came to that, because when the door to the tiny Italian place closed behind them McGonagall made a surprised noise and allowed an older man with a cane to approach her.

“Uncle, what are you doing here?” she asked, glancing briefly at Dean before she looked back to the old man. There was a pinch to her forehead that made Dean think she was already suspicious about the timing. “Not that it isn’t a nice surprise, but I’m escorting a student...”

“Minerva, I’m afraid we had to ask young Mr. Thomas to help us contact you,” the man said, nodding slightly in Dean’s direction. “You haven’t received any of my letters since June, have you?”

McGonagall stiffened, but as her hands were currently held tight by the old man, she couldn’t reach her wand. “Mr. Thomas, Uncle, what in _Merlin’s_ _name_ is going on?”

“Why don’t we sit and explain? I assure you it warrants such measures,” McGonagall’s Uncle gestured over to a large table in the back corner, and then beckoned Dean to follow along with them. His Professor was drawn tight with whatever she was feeling at the moment, and it didn’t lessen when they made it to the table and were face with a small assortment of men and women in formal dress.

“Ganauche, Nougat,” McGonagall nodded to the two men closest to the edge of the table, eyes narrow. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with everyone here.”

“Quite, yes, let me see,” the old man waited until they sat down. “For those who don’t know, this is my eldest godchild, Minerva and a student of hers, Dean Thomas. After Ganauche and Nougat we have Aria, the Don of the Giglio Nero family and her bodyguard Gamma, then Mammon of the Varia and Savario, a doctor from the Armoniche Ospedale. Mr. Thomas, my name is Timoteo Vongola, thank you for agreeing to arrange this meeting.”

Dean ducked his head, partly unnerved by the attention and partly to avoid his teacher’s stern stare.

“Minerva, this gathering concerns one of your students. We have strong reason to believe he is currently under the influence of Mist flames that are affecting the whole of the school, alongside magic that has modified the memories of his family and friends,” Timoteo began gravely, simultaneously exuding exhaustion and an overwhelming seriousness. “Mammon has been corresponding with a member of this student’s Harmony, who has provided enough evidence over the last few weeks that I know will be enough to convince you. If you agree, I would also have Mammon remove the Mist-influence from your person so you can help.”

McGonagall took a deep breath and removed her gaze from Dean. “Which student are you talking about?”

“Harry Potter.”

...

Hours later, Dean and the Professor landed back in Hogsmeade, quiet and subdued after everything Timoteo and Mammon had outlined –most of which Dean hadn’t the slightest clue about, but if the way McGonagall paled to a sickly degree over the course of the afternoon was any inclination, was not what she had wanted to hear. Even now she appeared off-balance and out of her depth, which was a rather unnerving look on the usually unflappable Head of Gryffindor House.

“Mr. Thomas, I will make this very clear,” she spoke suddenly, not looking at him as they began the trek up to the school. “You did the right thing for Mr. Potter. Had I not learnt all of this and Mx. Mammon not treated the Mist-influence properly, it would likely take many more months to sort this horrid affair out. For that, thank you.” Dean didn’t respond, sensing the implied ‘but’ at the end of such a sentence. “That said, if you ever trick me in this way again, you will have detention well into your thirties. I learnt my lesson about listening to my students, and I would much more appreciate just a plain talking to than a run around like that.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean nodded firmly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his Professor smile approvingly.

“As well, please pass on to Mr. Potter my apologies. I would go to see him, but...”

“Oh, that,” Dean interrupted her. “Harry actually told me –uh, he doesn’t really want to see you just yet. Mostly ‘cause he can’t remember anything clearly, it would be too confusing for him.”

“It’s just as well,” McGonagall sighed. “I will have to ask Filius to help me, and that takes top priority. If magic is really what’s affecting Mr. Potter’s family’s memory then we have to treat it as soon as possible. Luckily Filius has extensive experience with this sort of thing, especially after the fool Lockhart exposed himself.”

“I’ll pass it along.” Dean hoped, not for the first time, that doing this was the right choice; and once more he thought to himself that trusting Harry’s judgement was all he could do in the end.

///

Neville decided, after one too many times Harry snapped at him and sequestered himself in the Come and Go Room, that trying to help Harry with these flames of his through using his wand was a bad idea. At first, Harry hadn’t really let on that it bothered him as much as it _obviously _did, which in hindsight made Neville feel like a massive insensitive prick for not picking up on it, but he couldn’t exactly change that. He wanted to help Harry somehow, and if the wand idea was counterproductive then he would just have to come up with something else.

While Ron was content with sticking close to Harry and Hermione was off unearthing the whole conspiracy around their friend, Neville eventually settled on using what Luna had told him about how the Lovegoods and others accessed their ‘Fire’ to help Harry through it. When he spoke with the other Gryffindor about it, he knew he’d made the right decision by the bright, excited way Harry had agreed.

He hadn’t really thought about the fact that it would mean he had to throw jinxes at Harry in an effort to make him desperate enough to block them with something, but it was what Luna had suggested. The first few days it resulted in no few trips to the Hospital Wing and many more apologies on Neville’s part, but on the contrary to how Harry acted after using his wand, the other boy actually grew more and more lively with each session they went through.

Even more so when Harry encouraged him to throw in some punches and kicks alongside the spells, which inevitably ended up giving Neville some bruises right back.

But he had to admit, it was fun. He had the feeling that Harry was just humouring him and didn’t really expect anything to come from this, although it didn’t bother him as much as he expected. It was hard to dwell on his anxiety and self doubt when there was something _much bigger_ afoot –and according to what Malfoy had to say about it, it wasn’t only Harry who had been affected by the trip to the Ministry back in June. Neville tried not to dwell on it too much.

A breakthrough came in late September, just a few days after McGonagall and Dean had come back from London only for their Head of House to leave the school with Professor Flitwick on ‘urgent business’, throwing the Hogwarts rumour mill into overdrive. Neville and Harry were just messing around in the Come and Go Room, his friend teaching Neville how to properly throw a punch and then having him try to hit him, when something clicked unexpectedly.

One second Neville’s fist had grazed Harry’s nose and Harry fell back on his butt with a bark of surprised laughter, and the next second he yelped in shock and clutched at his forehead. Neville instantly stopped and hovered in worry as Harry stood up and a strange feeling entered the air like it was charged with static, and Harry stared down at his hands like he’d never seen them before. Neville flinched back a bit when he noticed Harry’s eyes were glowing green.

“Nev, throw up a barrier!” Harry demanded, grinning fiercely, and Neville did as asked –not a second too soon, as a split second later Harry had swung his fist forward and there was a flash of green. Next came a great shudder that seemed to reverberate out from the barrier and even made the lights and the fireplace flicker in and out like they had been caught in a high wind, and Neville nearly lost his footing from the force of it.

“We fucking did it! I’ve got it!” Harry laughed and pumped a fist in the air and raced over to hug Neville so hard that he literally lifted him off of his feet. “God, is this what it’s _supposed_ to feel like? This is, like –fuck!”

“Wait, so you –you remember now, too?” Neville let Harry swing him around a little before he dropped him back onto his feet. Even then, Harry seemed too full of energy to sit still and strode around the room, inspecting his hands all the while.

“Nope! Blank as a canvas up here!” Harry was still smiling. “But I can use the green fire now! Flames? Green flames? Anyway! This feels awesome!” He swiped at his forehead and the image of his lightning scar actually lifted for several minutes before it came back, which only pleased Harry further when Neville told him. “I can still feel the blue ones under my skin, they’re not ready to come out yet I guess, but one’s better than nothing! Jeez!”

Throwing punches was well and truly off the day’s agenda now, so Neville plopped himself down on one of the couches while Harry paced around and let the other boy bounce this thoughts and excitement off of him like some kind of amplifier. It only got worse when, about twenty minutes later the door to the room was thrown open and both Ron and Hermione burst in with wild expressions on their faces and zeroed in on where Harry was making weird hand motions that were apparently helping him coax the fire out even more.

Neville watched as the trio got close to each other and chatted up a storm in their excitement and could finally see what Luna was talking about. Those three were peas in a pod indeed, and if Neville was a gambler he would’ve put good money on this –wherever Harry went from now on, Ron and Hermione wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. Even the possibility of losing their magic wouldn’t be enough of a deterrent, and honestly he didn’t think that was a bad thing.

///

Seamus understood why Hermione was the one to speak with the mysterious people who wanted to help Harry out with this whole ‘memory’ debacle, because she was smart and vicious and could hold her own against anyone. He knew that Ron had attached himself to Harry’s side because they were best friends and Harry trusted the redhead to a degree Seamus couldn’t even comprehend. Hell, Seamus even agreed with Hermione, despite his nerves, that Dean being the one to get McGonagall to London had been the best choice because of how disconnected Mrs. Thomas was from wizards in general.

Seamus did _not_, however, agree that _he _should be the one to get the group of non-wizards concerned about Harry through the Siege Wards, especially not when all he could really do for Harry was worry over him and make him eat properly. This was arguably the most important part of the entire plan –why were they letting the resident mother-hen of the group do it?

Of course, Hermione’s reasoning was immutable, to say the least. Seamus’ Dad was descended from the same A’Dale family that Malfoy was, and that meant that he could access the matrixes without having to undergo the exhaustive warding that most other wizards who maintained the castle magic needed to. But unlike Malfoy, since Seamus was a half-blood he’d actually have a much easier time getting muggles through the Wards, since the magic was already predisposed to ‘redirect’ muggles instead of ‘violently ejecting’ wizards with ill intent. Hermione had theorized that the combination of access to the Wards and a blood connection to someone non-magical would act as a sort of cloak for anyone he wanted to bring in, and if there was one thing in the world that Seamus trusted, it was a Hermione Granger hypothesis.

So just because he understood and was going to do it didn’t mean he agreed –especially not when he had already treated Harry horribly in the past. He didn’t want this to fail and feel like it was his fault, even if he knew the sentiment was selfish on his part. So he was going to do it, but internally he felt like he wasn’t the right person even still.

They were going to do it on a Hogsmeade weekend; Harry and everyone else would stay up in the castle doing homework as a cover, while Seamus had made sure to talk up the trip in the days beforehand to make it seem like he was on the hunt for a birthday present for his Mum. Well, while he waited for these people he was meeting he _did _actually purchase a new set of Quill-nibs for her, but that was just an added bonus. He tried to make himself act as normal as possible, window shopping among the throngs of his fellow students until he noticed the old man under the awning of a closed Seamstress’ shop wave at him.

“Hi, erm, are you Mr. Nougat? I’m, uh, Seamus,” he felt his face turn red at the fumbling introduction, especially as the man looked scarier than Professor Snape after a Gryffindor first year class. When the mad nodded shortly, he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief. “Okay, great! Uh, how’re we going to do this?”

“Come along,” Mr. Nougat turned and began walking down the alley just next to the seamstress shop, strides so long that Seamus had to hussle to keep up. “Ms. Granger and Minerva have done as much as they can to ease things once we get in. We’re going to use the same Flames affecting Mr. Potter to conceal the majority of the group, so all you have to do is lead one person in.”

“That’s –yeah, that makes sense,” Seamus ducked his head and rummaged in his bag, just to _see _that he’d actually brought it along, ease his nerves. “It should be easy enough with the cloak.”

“Quite,” Mr. Nougat hummed and, once they had crossed a quiet residential street, he knocked twice on the wooden beam at the entrance to another alley. There was a flicker of purple and Mr. Nougat pushed him forward through some sort of concealing barrier, into the thick of a gathering of formally dressed, quietly milling adults. He felt his nerves skyrocket right back up.

“About time,” the –baby? No, it was probably some weird curse magic –muttered, and floated over to Seamus with an outstretched hand. “No time to waste, boy, let’s see the cloak.”

_Ooohhh gooood... _Seamus internally freaked out as he hurried to obey the demand. _How do Hermione and Ron just roll with this crazy shite every year???_

///

When people started dropping like flies across the Great Hall, Ginny could barely contain her excitement and began bouncing in place. Apparently whatever the stuff was that made Harry be –well, like he was –would be the key part in how these Mafia people were going to break in without anyone the wiser. Ginny wasn’t about to object, especially not as Snape turned to ask Sinistra a question and slumped back in his chair, out cold, none of the other Professors even noticing. It was brilliant.

They had all gone over the situation last night, Seamus nervous, Ron antsy, but Harry had been oddly calm about all of it. Ginny had caught him at the end and asked him if he was really alright with how everything was going –ever since that one day he’d locked himself in the Room of Requirement he’d seemed really distant –but what he’d told her wasn’t exactly what she expected.

“I feel like I’m gonna claw my skin off, honestly, Gin,” Harry had smiled, but it was all teeth. “I trust Hermione with this, but if these people get here and I don’t recognize them –I dunno what I’ll do. Something foolish, probably. I’m just trying to stay calm.”

Ginny felt like she understood on some level –maybe it was similar to the skin-crawling disgust she had felt after it really sunk in what the shade of Voldemort had done to her in 1st year? Regardless, as she looked over to Harry now, as more and more of the student body and nearly all of the teachers were falling asleep, she was glad to see him alert and practically vibrating. Hermione and Ron were as close as they could get to him without just sitting on top of each other, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Whatever those Flame things were doing, it sure was weird.

Finally, Professor McGonagall came down from the Head table and briefly spoke to Harry, letting him know she was going to go fetch Seamus and the group now that everyone was asleep. While she did so, Ginny took a glance around and noted who was still awake. Originally when she heard what the plan was, she’d been a bit confused –it was naive, but she wondered why they couldn’t just explain the situation to the Headmaster, it had obviously worked for McGonagall.

Apparently, however, way back in what would have been Harry’s first year, McGonagall _had _told Dumbledore that she had made sure Harry was with a better family. It hadn’t gone well. Something about a prophecy? Regardless, not a good idea.

When Seamus came in after McGonagall alone, there was a split second of confusion before the air next to him shifted and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak came off to reveal a... very tiny person in a black hood and cloak, floating in mid air. The person made a gesture with their hand and just as suddenly, with a flicker of purple there was a small crowd standing next to them, some looking around curiously but most focused on where Harry was slowly rising to his feet. There was an old man with a cane who looked especially relieved and a man in a lab coat who did a double take and immediately began to whisper to the woman next to him, but it was the boy about Ginny’s age who really caught everyone’s attention.

He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, a frantic expression on his face, and when he saw Harry standing there he froze. When Ginny glanced back at her friend, she jolted in surprise when she saw that his mouth was agape, one hand clutched over his chest and a few tears actually falling from his eyes.

“Oh,” Harry croaked, then let out a short, high pitched laugh. “It worked. You actually _did it_, Nayoshi.”

///

The next few hours were a confusing, emotional whirlwind.

After a sufficient amount of time spent letting Hanato’s little brother cling to him, Harry was introduced to the Vongola Ninth, who apparently had been the one to place him with the Momoda as a toddler. While the resident purple flame users –Shamal, Mammon, Bouche, Chrome and three doctors from the flame-user hospital, Savario, Myrtle and Mariana –began making their way through the hundreds of attending students to trace the ‘flame origin’, whatever that was, Harry spoke with people about his own situation.

At the moment, all he remembered was Hanato’s future, a similar vision to that which had been sent back to a number of people through whatever crazy power Yuni of the Giglio Nero possessed. Don Aria assured him that he would be able to be treated, and that she would personally see to it as the Sky Arcobaleno, which –_wow. _He would be sent to the flame hospital to make sure everything was done properly, as this was such a rare case it would be better in the long run to have it all documented in case something similar ever happened again.

It was only after an hour of the –Mist flame? –users investigating that they determined the source of the illusion to be Harry himself. It was almost like an infection, Dr. Shamal theorized as Dr. Savario inspected the mass of purple flames near his heart. Whoever Harry originally interacted with after the illusion was first placed upon him would be affected by it, as would anyone they then went to about Harry. The magic community being so insular was actually a good thing in this case, otherwise a _lot_ more people would be feeling it once they removed the source.

“It’s probably also how it can be self sustaining, even with Crouch Junior dead,” Mammon contributed –apparently alongside all of this, the Varia were being hired to clean out Britain of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort? Harry had a sneaking suspicion Hermione had something to do with that. “By my accounts, the man used his Mist flames to make it look like he could still cast magic. The Vindice won’t be happy this slipped through.”

Whoever had actually cast the memory spell on Hanato’s family and friends back in Japan, that wasn’t as conclusive. Malfoy had provided a few guesses based on the letters he had read from the younger Barty Crouch, but in the end it probably didn’t matter all that much. They’d likely be dead by the New Year if the Varia had anything to say about it, and Harry was happy to hear it. Soon, the confusion would be over and he’d be able to rest.

Until the source illusion could be removed, the team of Mists the Don of the Vongola had brought with him cast a lighter, temporary illusion –it would redirect any suspicion about Harry’s whereabouts once the castle woke back up, and would only need to be monitored until it wasn’t needed any longer. Since Harry was the only student who would be leaving at the moment, that left the task to his friends and Professor McGonagall.

Someone, probably Dr. Shamal or Bouche, would return to lift it once Harry was back to his old self, and at the same time would place the block on Luna’s flames that she had been promised, as well as arrange for Malfoy to be placed in a Vongola-run witness protection program until the situation in Britain had blown over. With the way Malfoy had sagged in relief after being told that, Harry wasn’t too sure his old rival would ever come back.

Harry was accompanied back up to the Gryffindor dorms by Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Dean and Seamus. In the Common Room the group split up, the latter four waving Harry, Hermione and Ron up to the dorm room like they knew that the three of them needed more privacy for the goodbye. Harry of course hugged them beforehand and thanked them for sticking by him through all this shit, and then it was him and his first two friends.

They helped him pack up his stuff in silence. Finally, when all that was left of Harry’s time at Hogwarts –fake as five years of it was –was the four-poster bed he had slept in over the last month, Ron broke the quiet.

“We’re gonna miss you, mate,” his face crumpled up as Harry looked at him, and he casually wiped away the tears he was letting fall. “It feels like we’ll never see you again.”

Hermione nodded as well, “We’re so happy you’ll finally feel better, we are. We’re just –a little selfish. We’ve been together five years.”

But that wasn’t true, was it? Harry pulled the two of them in for a hug and even though it hurt, he didn’t let his flames respond when his friends instinctively reached for them. If he did, he was afraid he’d take away any chance for them to stay at Hogwarts. No matter how much he wanted to, he didn’t have the right to tie them to him.

“You know you can still send me letters. I promise I’ll respond even once all this is sorted out,” Harry was squeezed tight and felt a little better –it was just about the only guarantee he could give. “You’ve done so much for me since school started –no way I’m gonna let you go.”

Hermione and Ron laughed at that, and they followed him back down to the Entrance Hall.

///

_Eight months later._

It was strange to wait on an empty riverbank with Isami, even after all the time that had passed since he had come back to his family. While Hanato couldn’t sit still and kept pacing and checking his watch, Isami sat back against the grassy slope and watched him, amused. It was like their personalities were temporarily switched.

“Remember when I punched you near here?” Isami suddenly asked, which managed to jolt Hanato out of his tunnel vision –he let out a bark of laughter at recalling the feeling of whiplash from relief to shock.

“That was a good shouting match. Like, you just ripped into me,” he watched his Cloud snicker as well –and didn’t _that_ feel good, to be able to claim Isami as an Advisor? “Ah, I can’t remember _why_ you were so mad, though? Sorry.”

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” you couldn’t just live under the influence of memory-altering Mist flames for three and a half months and not have some debilitating side effects. “It was ‘cause you told me you wanted me to join the Momoda. You didn’t exactly ease me into it, tactless oaf.”

“Oi, oi, rude,” Hanato huffed. “Oh, right, you avoided me for like a week, I thought we’d never be friends again. But it turns out you just needed to think it through six ways to Sunday.”

“And then some, you criminal,” Isami checked his watch. “Should be right about now, you excited?”

“_Yes,_” Hanato had been waiting for the paperwork to go through ever since that latter back in February. “The Momoda may be patient, but four months is just torture,” he weathered Isami’s continued snickers at his expense and scanned the riverbank once again. What had he done to deserve such a great Harmony?

Just after thinking that, there was a swirl of strange wind, like a tornado in slow motion –Hanato vaguely recalled the concept of Portkeys, but seeing one in action was another thing all together. It obscured the two figures within it for a long minute, and then just as suddenly cleared away. Hanato was already jogging over as Ron and Hermione staggered and recovered themselves, and when he hooked his arms around their necks and dragged them in it was like the last little piece of the puzzle had been filled. It was like the discomfort of the last eight months had never happened.

From a young age, Hanato had grown up around Flame Users, and many facets of Flame culture were known to him even if the Momokyou-kai didn’t practice many of them. When he turned six, his Aunt Minerva had explained that his birth parents were magical, and that he was going to have to make a decision, whether he knew it or not, of whether he wanted his Flames to stay dormant so he could attend Hogwarts like they had wanted, or if he wanted to awaken those Flames and lose his magic.

Hanato had listened to both sides of the choice with uncharacteristic seriousness for a six year old, before stating simply that if he was more likely to Activate anyway, he might as well not waste the time learning a skill he could lose completely. His Aunt had looked sad, but she hadn’t argued, and when he told his father he could tell that he was pleased even if he tried not to show it. Hanato had Activated a few months later and Manifested a few days before his ninth birthday, and that had been that.

When Hanato came back from his unwilling time in the UK, his family had been overjoyed –and then livid when they realized he was halfway to Harmonization with two people he had left behind. It took a lot of patient explaining and time to convince them he hadn’t been forced and that he was content with the possibility the connection would fade away. Just because there was a connection didn’t always mean it had to lead to a Harmony.

But still, when Ron and Hermione continued to write to him and expressed their own discomfort with him being so far away, he felt nothing but relief. In Skyless Harmonies any parties involved needed to have a certain level of trust and loyalty between one another in order for flames with no prominent harmonic factor to bind in such a way. It wasn’t always so easy as just finding someone you thought would make a good Wakagashira and calling it a day –and anyone who thought it was so easy was as big an idiot as the Tomaso heir.

Hanato had known all this since he was a child, had grown up in the thick of it, seen the good and bad of it, and chosen it for life before he’d left primary school. But even all the years, all the classes, all the logical arguments around it; even all of that couldn’t prepare him for when he met the people he really wanted for a Harmony. Or rather, when he knew he couldn’t have anyone else.

It didn’t matter that they had only _really _known each other for less than four months. Isami had agreed to be his saiko-komon, and as Hanato, Hermione and Ron crushed each other in a fierce hug, their Flames clicked together like it had been inevitable from the start. The little sparks of Storm and Sun he had carried with him all this time blazed out in a heady rush of warmth, and Hanato knew for sure that everything was going to turn out alright.


End file.
